


Death Won't Stop Me Annoying You

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Character Turned Into a Ghost, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Good Morgana (Merlin), Guilty Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Happy Ending, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit (Merlin), Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Rescue Missions, Scars, Season/Series 02, Sleeping Beauty Elements, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Merlin takes the brunt of a curse meant for Arthur, and disappears. Arthur is convinced he's lost his best friend for good, only for Merlin to walk into his chambers the next morning. Merlin swears up and down that he isn't a ghost, and he isn't dead, but that doesn't explain why Arthur's hand goes right through him.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 161
Kudos: 442





	1. Chapter 1

“You really are useless, Merlin.” Arthur laughs, and hauls Merlin out of the river by his jacket.

Merlin sends him a flat, unimpressed look as he tries to squeeze water out of his neckerchief, “You shoved me in, you ass.”

Arthur lets out a bark of laughter, “If you were a knight you wouldn’t have fallen in, or at the very least you would’ve dragged me with you.”

“I’m not stupid enough to be a knight.” Merlin retorts, struggling out of his sodden jacket.

He spreads the jacket on a rock that’s sitting in a patch of sunlight, and his neckerchief follows. Then his socks. It occurs to Arthur that for all the times Merlin has seen him in all his glory, this is the closest he’s come to seeing Merlin undressed. 

He’s all pale collarbones, and bony wrists. Even his feet seem bony somehow, despite the fact he spends the entire day on them running around. His hair is slightly curly in the damp, and Arthur wonders if Merlin styles his hair or something. Perhaps it’s cut too short to curl as it naturally wants to, and Arthur finds himself oddly fascinated trying to picture Merlin with curls.

“Your shirt would dry faster if you spread it out too.” Arthur reminds him before he can think better of it.

“I’m not taking my shirt off.” Merlin grumbles, and starts to walk across the clearing to tend to the horses.

Arthur shrugs out of his own jacket, having avoided wearing armor for this particular journey. Hunting does not require armor. Merlin had pitched a fit, shouting about bad luck and bandits.

“You’re such a girl, Merlin.” He says and lays down in the sun next to the river.

“I couldn’t be. You actually like girls.” Merlin snaps.

Arthur sits up, gaping at Merlin in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“It means you treat Gwen kindly even though she’s a servant, and you push _me_ into rivers.” 

“There’s no need to be so grumpy about it.” 

“No. None at all. I’m just freezing my toes off because you decided to shove me into a river that is still running with snow melt!” Merlin shouts.

“You’d be warmer if you took your shirt off.” Arthur says smugly.

Merlin’s eyes narrow, “ _You_ take _your_ shirt off.”

Arthur grins and shrugs easily. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge, especially one as easy as this. He reaches down, and tugs his shirt over his head easily. Then he gestures at Merlin.

“Go on then.”

“Now that you’ve shown yourself capable of taking your own clothes off, sire, I am no longer dressing you in the mornings.” Merlin informs him with raised eyebrows. 

“Hey! That was not the agreement.” Arthur protests.

“I don’t recall making any agreement.” 

“What are you so afraid of, Merlin?”

“I’m not afraid.” Merlin denies.

Arthur laughs. He doesn’t relish in riling Merlin up as he used to, they’ve moved past that phase of their friendship that they both pretend isn’t one. They’ve saved each other too many times now for them to want to make each other miserable, but sometimes it’s nice to prod and tease, to go back to pretending that they’re just two young men instead of the Crown Prince and his servant. It settles some of the strange itching in Arthur’s chest whenever he looks at Merlin.

“No? Then I must assume you enjoy being freezing since you refuse to take it off. Maybe I should just throw you into the river again since you enjoyed it so much.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me taking my shirt off,” and really, Arthur doesn’t either. He just has a tendency to get ideas sometimes and then can’t bring himself to give them up, “but fine. Turn around.”

“I’m the crown prince, Merlin.” Arthur says with the superior tone he only uses when trying to be irritating, “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“You’d turn around if it was Gwen.”

“Yes, but Guinevere is a girl. As you pointed out before, we are both men.” 

“Now I’m going to shove _you_ in the river.” Merlin says threateningly, “Just let me change in peace.”

“Fine.” Arthur laughs, but does turn his back to Merlin, “but it’s ridiculous for me to turn my back when you’re just going to have to wander around without a shirt anyway.”

“You know,” Merlin says conversationally, “You’re almost as bad as the other boys in Ealdor some days.”

“Oh?”

“I remember once being chased into a lake by a pack of bullies.”

It takes a second to register what Merlin said. Another second to register what exactly that implies.

He jumps to his feet, and turns to tell Merlin off for implying Arthur hasn’t grown passed the early days of their acquiantance, but his words die in his throat. He can see Merlin’s chest, bared as he struggles to get the wet shirt over his head. He’s narrow like Arthur expected, although his arms have more muscle on them than Arthur was expecting. His ribs stick out a bit, even after several years of eating well in Camelot, and Arthur expected that too. He also expected the expanse of pale skin.

What he did not expect is the large red scar smack dab in the middle of his chest. It takes the shape of a circle, early perfect except for where the skin has tugged and shifted as it healed. It looks angry; puckered at the edges. It must be recent too because it has only just started to take on that silvery sheen that scars develop over time. Whenever it happened, it happened after Merlin came to Camelot. Someone in Camelot _burned_ Merlin.

Arthur is across the clearing, hands resting on Merlin’s ribs before he even consciously makes the choice to move.

Merlin sputters and gets the wet shirt over his head with an indignant, “Arthur you can’t just go around grabbing people! What the—oh.”

“Merlin, what happened?” Arthur asks, trying to use the voice that soothes Llamrei when she’s anxious, but it comes out more dark and dangerous.

Merlin’s face goes blank, and he doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Arthur asks, voice darker than even a moment ago, “Merlin, you were burned.”

“Yes. I am well aware, Sire.” Something must be really wrong. Sire sounded like a proper title. Merlin only does that when he’s trying to put distance between them. “Now if you would please let go of me so I can get dressed.” 

“Did someone do this to you?” 

“No, I just decided to burn myself.” Merlin says in a harsh voice that he has never used before, “Of course someone did this.”

“Who?” Arthur hisses.

“You don’t need to worry. I took care of it.”

“Took care of it?”

“They’re gone.” Merlin answers and shakes himself back to life. His hands come to rest on Arthur’s, elegant fingers trying to pry himself free of Arthur’s grip and they’re still cold from the stream. Arthur feels worse about that now. Merlin was hurt, at some point, probably worked while hurt, and Arthur didn’t know. His best friend was horribly injured and he didn’t know.

“What do you mean they’re gone?” Arthur demands.

The blood is rushing in his ears. He wants to rend whoever it was limb from limb. He wants to burn them like they burned Merlin. Merlin who has stood by him in everything, rode out with him on quests and into bandit infested territory without even a butter knife to keep him safe. Merlin, the most loyal man Arthur has ever met.

“I keep telling you,” Merlin says gently and his eyes hold a thousand stories that Arthur doesn’t know, “I’m stronger than I look.”

“When did this happen?”

Before Merlin can answer, there’s a crack of a branch, and it’s enough to startle them apart. Arthur instinctively unsheathes his sword, takes Merlin by the shoulder, and shoves him behind him. He steps between Merlin and the patch of forest that the crack came from. A man steps out. He seems more pile of rags than man, clothes hanging off of him in tatters. When his eyes land on them, they flare a brilliant yellow.

“Sorcerer!” Arthur shouts to Merlin, “Stay behind me!”

“You,” the sorcerer takes a step forward, “You are Uther Pendragon’s son!”

Merlin, the great idiot, moves to stand beside him instead of staying behind. He tries to angle himself in front of Arthur. It’s truly an absurd sight considering that his shirt is still laying on the forest floor several steps away. 

“Stop!” Merlin shouts, authoritative and strong.

To Arthur’s great surprise, the sorcerer actually pauses. He glances over at Merlin, frowning deeply. “You would defend him?”

“Yes.” Merlin says without hesitation, “He’s a bit of a prat—”

“Merlin!” Arthur interjects, but Merlin keeps going like he hasn’t heard.

“But he’s good. He’s compassionate when he wants to be. He isn’t what you think he is.” Merlin insists.

The sorcerer shakes his head, not at all deterred by Merlin’s speech, “He is the tool his father uses. He is a link in a chain. Remove even one link and the chain breaks.”

“No,” Merlin tries to take another step forward. Arthur swings his arm out, catching him around the chest so he can’t move further, “You’re wrong. You haven’t done anything yet. I bet he would just let you go if you walked away now.”

The sorcerer’s eyes dart between them, and a smile twists his lips; cruel, unyielding. “You love him.” 

Arthur isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to, but Merlin must assume it’s himself because he starts spluttering something about friendship and destiny. Arthur catches words like unite and Albion, but none of it makes any sense. It sounds a bit like the ravings of a madman. 

The sorcerer must be thinking it too because he draws his hands up and says, “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

Light begins to glow in his hand, and Arthur finds his feet rooted to the spot. He tries to rush forward, his sword still unsheathed at his side, but his limbs are lead. Beside him, Merlin seems to be struggling as well, with only marginally more success than Arthur is.

“If a kingdom without magic is what the King wants, then let his son suffer. Never shall he wake, until true love no longer has a magic kiss!” the sorcerer says, voice coming louder at the end like he’s pronouncing a death sentence which, to be fair, he probably is.

The sorcerer flings his light at Arthur, and he has a moment to think, _this is it_. The spell never reaches him. Merlin wrenches himself free of the sticking enchantment, and flings himself in front of Arthur just as the spell would have made contact. 

Arthur hears Merlin scream, and feels himself hit the forest floor. He rolls onto his back, intending to scramble to his feet, but he is frozen in horror. A brilliant blue light engulfs Merlin. Spreading from the center mass of his body, outward. His head is tossed back, mouth open like he’s in pain but no sound comes out. Then there’s a loud pop, and suddenly Merlin is gone. 

Arthur’s hand tightens on his sword, and he leaps to his feet. He whirls around, sword raised to strike the sorcerer, but he’s gone too. Arthur is alone in the clearing. Merlin’s horse, and Merlin’s clothes still drying on the rocks are the only evidence that he existed at all.

With a horrifying clarity, Arthur realizes where that scar on Merlin’s chest must have come from. This isn’t the first time he’s dived in front of a spell.

“Merlin!” he screams, even though he knows it’s useless. He saw Merlin vanish. He screams Merlin’s name again, and again, over and over until his throat is raw.

Arthur collapses onto the rock next to Merlin’s clothes, chest heaving. His hands tremble as he drags through his hair. It’s all his fault. If he had moved faster, if he’d just charged the damn sorcerer and ran him through maybe Merlin would still be here. 

He sucks in an unsteady breath. He’s going to have to tell Gaius. He’s going to have to tell Morgana and Gwen. He’s going to have to tell _Hunith_. None of them are ever going to forgive him for what happened. 

He drags his hands down his face, and presses his hands tightly over his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ward off the tears. A sob still escapes, muffled only slightly by his hands.

It’s sunset by the time he drags himself off the rock. He scrubs the tears from his cheeks, then gathers the clothes Merlin left on the rock. He folds them neatly, wanting these last few reminders of his friend to be handled with care. He packs them away in Merlin’s empty saddle bag, and mounts his own horse. 

He’s not sure how he even makes it back to Camelot, but one moment he’s by the river and the next he’s gazing up at the castle. A guard calls jovially to him, but Arthur doesn’t respond. He can’t.

He hands the reins of both horses off to the stable boy, and gathers Merlin’s things from the saddle bag. Numbly, he climbs the stairs to Gaius’s chambers. When he enters, Gaius is hunched over one of his vials, squinting between it and a textbook. He looks up as Arthur enters, and a bit of fondness softens his disapproving features.

“Sire, I wasn’t expecting you and Merlin back just yet. How can I help you?”

Arthur holds out Merlin’s things, and tries not to feel guilty about the scarf he kept. He’d wanted something, anything, to remember him by. Surely Gaius won’t begrudge him that; one small token to remember his friend. It occurs to him that he never actually admitted to Merlin that they were friends, he just always thought Merlin knew how he felt. The guilt begins to gnaw at him when he considers that maybe Merlin didn’t know.

Gaius takes the clothes, eyebrows drawn down together, “Why are you handing me these? Where’s Merlin?”

Arthur sucks in a deep breath, “There was a sorcerer and he… he jumped in front of me... He’s... Gaius I’m so sorry.”

Tears spring unbidden in Arthur’s eyes, and Gaius staggers back. He collapses heavily on the bench, eyes fixed on Merlin’s shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Arthur says, voice cracking.

“His blood is not on your hands.” Gaius says, eerily calm.

“It was my fault we were out there. I should have protected him. I should have…” Arthur presses his lips together, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Gaius stands, and gathers Arthur into a hug, and Arthur sobs into his shoulder like he hasn’t done since he was seven years old. The gnawing feeling spreads from his stomach to his chest as well. Gaius has just lost the closest thing he’s ever had to a son, and here he is comforting Arthur. It shouldn’t be like this. Arthur should have been the one to vanish.

“I’ll write his mother.” Gaius promises as he strokes Arthur’s back

Arthur nods, trying to be firm and strong. He has to be for Gaius’s sake. He has just as much of a right to mourn Merlin’s loss as Arthur does, and he can’t do that if Arthur is crying all over him. Arthur has chambers for a reason, he’ll mourn his loss tonight, and tomorrow he will learn to live in a world without Merlin there. It isn’t a world that Arthur wants to live in, but he has no choice. Gaius will have to learn to do the same, though he no doubt feels the loss just as keenly as Arthur.

“Don’t send it right away. I want to include my own letter and some gold if I can.” 

Gaius steps back, and grasps Arthur firmly by his elbows. “I want you to get some rest. You’ve had a shock.”

Arthur nearly laughs. He once got food poisoning from a poorly cooked chicken, and his father, a man known for keeping all his emotions in check, had caused a bigger fuss than Gaius is now. Everyone grieves in different ways, but Gaius doesn’t seem to be grieving at all. It seems more like he’s simply accepted a Merlin-less world and moved on.

“So have you.”

“We all mourn in our own way.” Gaius says gravely, “Now go to bed.”

Again Arthur isn’t sure how he makes it from Gaius’s chamber to his room. The halls pass in a blur. All he knows is that his back against his door, and his chambers are too quiet. There’s no chatter, or judgmental looks following a row. There’s no laughter or teasing. It is still, quiet, cold.

He is grateful that he chose to wear riding clothes instead of his armor. The thought of having anyone who isn’t Merlin spending the time to take the armor off makes him ill. He couldn’t bear it if anyone else touched him right now. He feels like a precariously balanced stack of rocks. One nudge and the whole thing will come tumbling down.

He strips out of his clothes, and reaches up to snag the trousers he uses for sleep. They aren’t there, and Arthur’s heart aches. Merlin always hangs them there. Already there’s been a noticeable change in Arthur’s life. He nearly bursts into tears all over again.

He finds the trousers tucked away in the bottom of his wardrobe, and he has to wonder how they got there. Perhaps Guinevere came in to do some tidying. She always told Merlin that he needed to keep things cleaner. Arthur never cared much. He turns down his own bedcovers, and slide in. Again he is struck by just how quiet it is without Merlin. He tugs a pillow over his face and sobs until he’s too exhausted to keep going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, two songs inspired this fic:  
> King - The Amazing Devil  
> Ghost Story - Charming Disaster


	2. Chapter 2

“Rise and shine!” Merlin calls cheerfully, and the room is flooded with light.

Arthur groans, and buries his face further into his pillows to block out the light. He’s in no mood for Merlin’s antics this morning. The bedcovers are yanked away, and the cold air chills his skin.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts indignantly, and bolts upright.

Merlin grins at him, unapologetic, “Shall I fetch your breakfast, sire?”

Arthur blinks. Something isn’t right. His heart leaps into his throat.

“Merlin.” He says breathlessly.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“You…” Arthur gapes.

Merlin frowns, “Arthur? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Arthur nearly bursts out laughing. “I have. Merlin, you’re dead.”

Merlin tils his head, considering. “Really? I don’t feel dead.”

Arthur stumbles out of bed, hand outstretched. It falls right through Merlin’s arm when he tries to grab it. Merlin jerks backwards with a startled noise, feet not touching the stone floor. He scrambles at his tunic, and yanks it away from his chest so he can look down the front.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks.

“I can’t be dead. I still have that scar. If I was ghost then I wouldn’t have a scar!”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin.” Arthur says automatically, then winces. Merlin is dead. He should probably be a bit kinder to him about it than he normally is.

Merlin glares at him, “Why is that stupid? I thought ghosts were meant to be eerily flawless!”

“That’s vampires. Ghosts carry their scars and manner of death with them.”

“How much do you know about ghosts anyway?”

“How much do _you_ know?” Arthur retorts.

Merlin huffs in annoyance, and Arthur can’t stop the small smile breaking on his face. Merlin has no breath in his lungs anymore, but he still can’t pass up the opportunity to let Arthur know exactly how irritated he is. He could almost pretend yesterday didn’t happen and Merlin is here with him.

Apparently at a loss for words Merlin scowls harder, “But I opened your curtains.”

“Ghosts can move things.” Arthur points out, “Look, Merlin. I know this can’t be easy. I… I’m just glad that I get the chance to—”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be able to see the ghost when it moves things. You could definitely see and hear me when I opened your curtains.”

Arthur groans and puts his hands on hips. He can’t believe that he’s trying to convince Merlin that he’s dead. If the moron wants to believe himself alive and well, then let him. Only, Arthur knows why he’s trying so hard. He remembers the stories told around the campfire during hunting trips and patrols; souls that never moved on and became angrier and angrier until there was hardly anything left of the person, nothing left but pain and rage.

He tries to tell himself that they’re just stories, but he can’t stomach the thought of Merlin becoming vengeance incarnate. He’s not naive enough to believe Merlin a pure, untouched soul. He’s fought by Arthur’s side too often for him not to have blood on his hands, but under the darkness that sometimes lingers in Merlin’s eyes there is kindness. Arthur can’t let Merlin lose that, especially when it’s Arthur’s fault.

“Pick up that jug of water.” He demands.

“What?”

“If you’re not a ghost, and yesterday was some kind of bizarre dream, then you should have no problem picking up the jug.”

“You could have just lead with that instead of being a prat in the middle of a crisis.” Merlin grumbles, but he crosses the room to the jug on the wash basin. His feet don’t touch the floor, and Arthur has to repress a shiver at how gracefully Merlin glides across the stones. Even when Merlin isn’t tripping over his own feet there’s always a hint of clumsiness, probably owing to being all limbs. This new found ease of movement is unsettling. It’s unnatural.

Merlin wraps his hands around the jug, lifts it from the table, and then turns to face him, eyebrows raised. His lips are pressed together in the way that means he’s trying to keep himself from saying ‘I told you so’.

“See? You can see me, and I’m lifting the jug.”

Arthur’s heart leaps to his throat, beating wildly. He stares dumbfounded at the jug, floating seemingly unaided in the air.

“Merlin!” fear makes his voice go tight. Thoughts of silver and salt and wards tangle in his head. He can’t remember what’s meant to fight what, but the thought of banishing Merlin before finding a proper way to put him to rest makes his heart race. 

“What?” Merlin asks, sounding indignant. Arthur’s sure if he could see Merlin, his eyebrows would be drawn slightly together, his mouth slightly agape.

“Shut up!” he says wildly. Merlin didn’t disappear before he opened his mouth. 

“Well now you’re just being rude. Don’t think I won’t rat you out to Gwen.”

“I’m serious, Merlin. Shut up. I can’t see you while you’re talking.”

There’s a soft ‘oh’ and then the room goes silent. Moments later, Merlin fades back into view. It’s not unlike watching fog roll in off the hills. When Merlin stands before him as solid as before, Arthur sighs in relief and he doesn’t collapse into a chair, but his knees feel weak. He takes a steadying breath. When he looks up at Merlin properly again, he’s mouthing something.

“What?”

“I asked if you could hear me.” Merlin says, and vanishes from view in the blink of an eye.

“Stop doing that! It’s unsettling!”

The jug settles back on the table, and Merlin fades back into view, “Sorry.”

“Well at least we know there are rules to being a ghost.” Arthur says, trying to sound like the imposing battle commander he’s trained to be. He has a feeling it comes out rather weaker than he hoped.

“I’m not a ghost.” Merlin insists.

“You can’t be seen, heard, and felt at the same time. What would you call that?”

“I’m… temporarily missing my body.”

Arthur glares at Merlin’s winning grin, “That is the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard.”

Merlin opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by Arthur’s bedroom door literally crashing open. It bounces off the stone with an almighty bang, and Arthur almost leaps out of his skin.

“God, Morgana! You could have knocked!” he shouts, hand over his racing heart. This morning has already been too full of shocks. Is he too young for a heart attack?

Morgana stands in the doorway, hair still slightly rumpled from sleep, and she had the foresight to throw on a fur for decency’s sake. Her nightgowns are often sheer, and Arthur has seen the guards looking on more than one occasion. Her green eyes flash with anger. Behind her is Guinevere, big brown eyes filled with concern. Her hand on Morgana’s arm is probably the only thing preventing him from being skewered alive.

“Is it true?” she snaps.

“Is what true?”

“Is Merlin dead?” she asks.

“Yes.” Arthur says at the same time Merlin says “No”. Arthur shoots Merlin an annoyed look over his shoulder as Guinevere lets out a shuddering sob. Morgana stares at him, gaze following the direction of his look. She draws Guinevere to her, holding her through the shock.

“You could have done us the courtesy of telling us instead of letting us find out through the rumor mill. He was our friend too.” Morgana says icily.

Arthur drags his hands through his hair, “I know. It was late when we—I” he stumbles as he corrects himself, “got back. I could barely tell Gaius, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You’re a coward, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur nods. She is more right than she could ever know. He should have charged at the first sign of trouble, his death be damned. Merlin is a ghost now because of his cowardice. 

“I know.” He says softly.

Morgana wraps her arms tighter around Guinevere’s shoulders, and supports her. She coaxes Guinevere out with a gentle voice, still glaring daggers at Arthur as she goes.

“Why did you do that? I’m not dead!” Merlin shouts, gesticulating wildly.

Arthur whips around, frustration bubbling to the surface, “Because even if you’re not dead, we don’t know how to get your soul back to your body! What if I told them, and we never figured it out? It would give them false hope, and that is worse than knowing your friend is gone.”

Merlin visibly deflates and drifts towards the table. When he sits, his knees tucked to his chest and chin resting on them, no part of his body has made physical contact with the chair. He glances up at Arthur, knowing look in his eye.

“You know who is really good at research?”

Arthur does.

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“The same reason I told Guinevere and Morgana you were dead. Can you imagine how much worse it would be for him to have false hope? Now help me get dressed.”

Merlin’s face goes suddenly serious, “Gwen and Morgana couldn’t hear me.”

Arthur’s heart clenches. Merlin sounds so lost, and broken, and it is Arthur’s fault Merlin is miserable.

“Don’t be such a girl, Merlin.” Arthur says. He knows it isn’t an appropriate response, but he’s trying to keep his own emotions from overwhelming him. There’s no rules for how to navigate being the only person to see your friend’s ghost.

“You know that doesn’t make me feel any better than when you punch my arm.” Merlin points out, but there’s a small flicker of amusement in his eyes so Arthur counts it as a win.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Now, clothes?”

Getting dressed is equally as off putting as watching Merlin move. They try to keep up their usual morning banter, but that means Arthur’s shirt, jacket, trousers, and boots all seem to float across the room. He tells Merlin to shut up while he helps him slide into his clothes and do up the laces, but that’s almost worse. Merlin is only ever silent when he’s too angry to speak.

Not only that, but the touch feels wrong. He’s used to the brushes of Merlin’s warm fingers against his skin. He’d never admit it aloud, but those touches help ground him, remind him that there’s one person out there who sees him properly. Now the touch makes him recoil. Each brush feels like a winter breeze against his skin. He doesn’t even have Merlin’s breath to listen to. His room is eerily still and silent, despite it being abuzz with activity. 

“I have a council meeting to attend to today with my father.” Arthur says conversationally.

Merlin takes a deliberate step back, and Arthur is grateful he won’t have to witness another disappearing act when Merlin responds.

“I know. Something about grain taxes right?”

“Yes. Are you coming?”

“I have nothing else to do. Everyone thinks I’m dead.” Merlin says with a shrug, “Besides, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.” 

Merlin claps Arthur on the shoulder, but when Arthur tries to hold his wrist his hand goes straight through. He shivers.

“Sure you weren’t.” Merlin jokes, and promptly goes invisible again.

“Do you have to keep doing that?”

The pressure on his shoulder lifts and Merlin fades back into view. He’s grinning, not a bit apologetic.

“Sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Okay. Maybe I’m enjoying startling you,” Merlin admits, “Consider it payback for all those times you used me as a training dummy.”

“When do I ever use you as a training dummy?”

Merlin gives him a flat look, then drifts out the doors without opening them. For someone who keeps insisting he isn’t a ghost, he’s having an awful lot of fun acting like one.

Arthur steps into the hall a moment later, and follows in Merlin’s wake. Merlin dodges other servants as a matter of habit, and it’s almost like having his clumsy manservant back. Only, there are collisions. When they happen, the poor serving girl in question lets off a full body shudder, and mutters “Someone must have walked over my grave” when whoever is working with her sends her a questioning look. It makes Arthur’s stomach twist unpleasantly. 

“You should be more careful.” Arthur hisses out of the corner of his mouth. He’s never been very good at talking without moving his lips, but he has a feeling he’s going to need to get better at it if he wants to get through this ordeal without being labelled a madman.

“It’s not like I’m intentionally running into them.” Merlin’s voice should echo off the stone in the corridors, but it doesn’t. It’s like it reaches Arthur’s ears then stops. Strange that he should miss an echo.

“You’re going to give them all a fright if you’re not careful.” 

“They can’t see or hear me. Look.”

Merlin walks over to the nearest guard and sticks his tongue out right in his face. The guard doesn’t so much as blink.

“Stop that,” Arthur hisses, “Don’t be a nuisance.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and drifts away down the hall again. Arthur swears he can hear a muttered, “Clotpole.” He thinks, privately, that he’s going to find a way to put Merlin back in his body just to strangle him to death himself.

The guards open the doors for him as he approaches the council chambers, and Merlin takes great joy in yelling ‘boo’ right into their ears. The guards don’t react, but Arthur does. He flinches hard enough that one of the guards turns his head, a concern frown visible even through the small gap in his helmet.

“Are you alright, Sire?” he asks kindly.

“Perfectly. Thank you.” Arthur says, ignoring the sound of Merlin snorting beside him.

The doors swing closed in Merlin’s face, and Arthur finds it briefly satisfying. It’s what he gets for joking around about his own death. Then the reality of Merlin’s death overwhelms him again, and he has to breathe deeply to keep all the guilt locked away. They’re going to find a way to fix this, the solution has always come to him before, and it will again.

Merlin materializes through the door, and pokes Arthur’s back between his shoulder blades, “You could have at least let me go in before you.”

“You seem to have it well in hand.” Arthur says under his breath.

“Passing through objects is more difficult than it looks, you know.”

“Even as a ghost, you’re a weakling.” Arthur says, then leaves Merlin spluttering indignantly behind him. He takes his seat at the table, next to his father.

He is ignored at first, but that isn’t unusual, he’s often too caught up in all the paperwork to notice Arthur at first. So Arthur waits patiently as the remaining councilors shuffle into the room, heads bowed, and murmuring to each other. Finally, his father looks up, grey eyes narrowed on his face.

“I’m glad to see yesterday’s events has not affected you too badly.”

“Father?”

“I only mean that I know there was a certain… bond between you and that servant that died yesterday. The incident with that flower was proof enough of that,” his father explains, still searching Arthur’s face for signs of weakness, “I was worried that his death would affect you. It would not due for a prince to publically mourn a servant.”

Anger bubbles heavy and hot in Arthur’s chest, stealing his breath. His jaw clenches as he struggles not to scream at his father for being so calloused about this whole thing. He opens his mouth to speak, when Merlin does it for him.

“That was a bit rude. I did die saving your life.”

Arthur snaps his mouth shut. His father looks back to his documents, once more satisfied with Arthur’s presence. Arthur picks up a goblet of wine that is resting in front of him, and uses it to disguise his mouth as speaks to Merlin.

“I thought you weren’t dead.” He mumbles.

“I’m not, but it’s the principal of the thing.”

His father looks over to him again, brows creased in confusion, “What did you say?”

“I said I was going to have to find another servant.” Arthur responds easily.

“Quite right,” his father agrees, and rises from his seat, “Gentleman, if we’re all prepared?”

Arthur loses himself for the next couple of hours. The councilors have a tendency to drone on and on rather than get to the point, and he has long since mastered the art of filtering out all the flattery of his father in order to retain only the pertinent information. It allows his mind to drift for a while, and inevitably comes back to the problem of Merlin.

The annoying things is, Merlin is probably right. Whenever there had been a magical problem in the past, Gaius always found an answer in one of those mysterious books of his. He is no doubt their best resource in getting Merlin to move on, or returning him to his body, or whatever the hell it is that needs to be done to undo this curse. The thought, though, of getting Gaius’s hopes up is unbearable, even more unbearable than Gaius thinking him mad. Ghosts don’t exist, and yet Merlin is one. How is he meant to explain that to anyone without them thinking he’s been lost to grief.

“You’re joking.” Merlin says loudly, voice hard with annoyance. 

It makes Arthur sit up, and take notice properly once more. Lord Edward is proposing a new tax on farmers. It doesn’t sound too outlandish to him, but something about it caught Merlin’s attention. Arthur’s gaze lands on Merlin standing next to him. He’s scowling at Lord Edward like he’s trying to set him on fire with his mind.

Arthur clears his throat subtly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone else in the room but Merlin. Merlin’s land on him then, surprised. He’s never sought Merlin’s opinions about council matters within the council itself, it was always beforehand, but with everything going on their usual discussion has fallen by the wayside. For all that he teases Merlin about being an incompetent idiot, there’s no one better to gain insight from about the people.

“You saw how we lived in Ealdor!” Merlin yells, and none of the councilors react, “We barely had enough to get by even before Kanen came! Camelot’s farmers are barely better off than we were, and now he’s proposing to tax them even more!”

Arthur sends him a look that hopefully communicates: _How do you know that?_

“I run into a lot of them when I’m out gathering herbs for Gaius.” Merlin answers.

Arthur clears his throat, louder this time, intending to catch the council’s attention. They all turn to him, including his father. It’s rare that he speaks up in these meetings, and therefore draws notice.

“I don’t think this entirely wise.” Arthur says diplomatically.

“You listened to me?” Merlin asks just as Lord Edward puffs out his chest and says, “With all due respect, my lord, we need the revenue. The citadel walls need to be repaired, roads need to be repaved, debts returned.”

“Be that as it may,” Arthur acknowledges, “I don’t believe our poorer citizens can afford more, especially farmers. Walls, roads, and debts will mean nothing if we have no citizens to enjoy the benefits.”

“Exactly!” Merlin exclaims, and Arthur sends him an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye. Merlin frowns, tilting his head, “What? It’s not like they can hear me.”

A grin slowly spreads across Merlin’s face, lighting him up from the inside, bright and mischievous. 

“They can’t hear me.” He repeats, and drifts across the room so he’s standing right next to Lord Edward, “You’re more insufferable than Arthur!”

Arthur catches himself before the, “Now hang on!” can escape him. Merlin seems oblivious to it. He’s still leaning close to Lord Edward as he argues with another one of the lords about the tax plan.

“You think anyone not born lucky enough is below you, despite being a bigger fool than the village idiot.” His attention to turns the lord Edward is arguing with, “And you’re not any better. You’re only pretending to care because you disagree with everything Lord Edward says on principle.”

Arthur learns a few things about Merlin during that council meeting. The first: Merlin does actually have a sense of self-preservation. He insults all of the lords, one by one, and throws the King in for good measure. The insults are too precise, and too well-crafted for them to be spur of the moment thoughts. Merlin has thought of them for a while, and the only thing ensuring he keeps his tongue must be the threat of having his head lopped off.

The second: Merlin is smart. Arthur always had the sneaking suspicion that Merlin was wiser than he let on, but this just confirms it. He’s paid attention to all the meetings Arthur has dragged him to, and now that he doesn’t have to worry about someone taking offense to his words, he lets them all know exactly what he thinks about their plans, and why they are objectively worse for Camelot.

The third thing Arthur already knew, but discovers Merlin can reach new levels when pressed. Merlin is annoying. He doesn’t shut up the entire time. A few times he says something so rude that Arthur feels his heart instinctively skip in his chest because it would normally send him right to the headman. After the third time he does it, Arthur suspects Merlin is doing it on purpose just to get under his skin. His suspicion is confirmed when he startles so badly that he drops his quill, and Merlin grins at him.

It’s all fun and games at first, but it worries Arthur deep down. He can’t help but worry that this is the start. That the harmless pranks, and the shouting at lords are the first step on the path towards Merlin becoming a poltergeist, unmoored and vengeful.

If it happens it will all be Arthur’s fault.


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out that there is something else disturbing about Merlin’s situation. As if not being able to be heard, felt, and seen at the same time wasn’t bad enough, it turns out that in the sunlight he goes almost translucent. Arthur can still see him, but it’s like he’s made out of the thin netting material that Arthur has noticed the young women of the court adding to their dresses. In the sunlight, Merlin loses some the physicality that brings Arthur comfort. He’s more of an impression than a person.

Arthur glances anxiously at the bench where Merlin has taken up residence. He’s sat there, polishing armor or handing Arthur weapons every day since he became Arthur’s manservant. Today is no different. Merlin sits there, probably out of habit, and watches training like nothing has changed. Though normally his hands would be busy with work. There are several times Arthur notices him reaching out to do something, only to reel himself back in. It wouldn’t do for swords and water cups to start floating. Arthur is grateful that Merlin has that much self-preservation instinct at least.

“Sire,” Leon’s gentle voice draws his attention away from Merlin floating a hairsbreadth above the bench, “is all well?”

Arthur clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, “I’m fine.”

“Is it Merlin?” Leon asks, still sounding kind and concerned.

“What?” Arthur asks, hear skipping a beat. Leon shouldn’t be able to see Merlin. No one else has, and Merlin was much closer to Guinevere and Morgana than he was to Leon. He has visions of Leon calling Uther down with accusations of sorcery, of things spinning wildly out of control before Arthur has even had a chance to fully grasp what’s happening. 

Leon pats Arthur’s shoulder with an awkward smile, “I only meant that we all liked him. He was a loyal man, and it’s a shame he’s gone.”

Arthur swallows, and smiles in a way he hopes is convincing and not strained, “It’s just a bit strange that I’ll have to find a new servant. I was finally used to him.”

“He will be missed.” Leon says seriously, “None of us will forget him.”

“Of course. He was rather memorable.”

“Am I?” Merlin asks, materializing behind Leon. 

Arthur nearly drops his sword. He bites back the curses that threaten to come spilling out and resists the urge to glare at Merlin. The last thing he needs is Leon thinking he’s gone insane in the last day, or that somehow he’s gone mad with grief. Especially when the source of his current madness is grinning winningly at him over Leon’s shoulder.

“I’m sure,” Arthur says through gritted teeth, “that Merlin would appreciate your consideration if he were here.”

Leon inclines his head in a respectful nod, “Of course, Sire.”

“I do appreciate it.” Merlin says with a pleased smirk. The smirk doesn’t last long, Leon turns on his heel to return to training, and he walks right through Merlin in the process. Merlin’s eyebrows draw together, and he stares down at his torso like he can’t quite trust it. 

Arthur feels a smile start to tug at his own mouth at the expression on Merlin’s face. Serves him right for trying to torture Arthur with this information for the last few days. Merlin looks up, still thoroughly unsettled, and catches sight of Arthur’s smile. He tilts his head, mouth thinning into a line of exasperation. Arthur just lifts his eyebrows in amusement.

“You try having a person walk through _you_ and see how _you_ like it.” Merlin says waspishly.

Arthur turns away from him, and adjusts his grip on his sword. He can’t let Merlin distract him from training just because he’s dead. Besides, with that sorcerer still kicking about Arthur needs to be in as good as shape as possible. The spell was meant for him, there’s no doubting that. The fact that it hit Merlin and not Arthur, doesn’t mean the sorcerer is done trying to seek his revenge. Arthur needs to be ready in case there’s another attack. If he dies in the next one, it will have made Merlin’s sacrifice utterly pointless. Arthur may wish that he’d been the one to suffer the fate Merlin is stuck with, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to rush to put himself in that situation without getting Merlin back first. If Merlin says he’s not dead, then Arthur chooses to believe him. At least for the time being. If Merlin starts displaying any sign of turning into a poltergeist, Arthur will reassess.

He steps up against Kay. The two of them have trained together nearly as long as he’s trained with Leon. They know each other’s weaknesses, and they aren’t above playing dirty when they’re in the mood. Arthur isn’t in the mood today. He just wants a good clean fight to take his mind off of everything he has to solve. 

Kay swings his sword, and Arthur blocks. It sets them off in a dance, weaving around each other, each of them trying to score a hit while the other fends them off with ease. Arthur feels sweat start to gather on his forehead, and trickle down his back. The sun is bright and heavy overhead, baking them into the same crispy gold of the bread that cooks bakes fresh every other day. Arthur focuses, searching for his opening. He gets it when he clocks another of Kay’s swings. He didn’t mean to parry quite so hard, but the chance to work off some of his frustration carries him away, and Kay’s arm goes wide. Quick as a snake, Arthur darts in and smacks Kay’s chest with the flat of his blade. The message is clear. In battle that would have been a killing blow.

Kay drops his sword, grinning brightly, and shakes Arthur’s hand like the good sport he is. 

“Well fought, Sire.” He says as hey release their handshake.

“You as well.” Arthur agrees and reflexively turns towards the bench, “Merlin!”

Merlin hops to just as he always does when he’s been slacking off and is trying to look like he’s actually paying attention instead of getting lost in his thoughts, “Yes, Sire?”

Arthur opens his mouth to respond, and realizes his mistake. He closes it once more with an audible click. He forgot, in the heat of sparring, that Merlin is no longer with him. At least, not in any way that doesn’t make Arthur look strange when he requests Merlin’s help. Merlin must have guessed Arthur’s thoughts in that uncanny way of his, because he glances nervously around the knights. Arthur sucks in a breath, and turns to face his men.

Their reactions are mixture. Those that are newer and didn’t know Merlin well, look generally amused that their crown prince forgot something as obvious as a dead servant. The ones who have been there a bit longer, who know that Merlin spent most of his time at Arthur’s side looks sympathetic, probably thinking about how difficult it is to replace decent help. The ones who were there before Merlin ever arrived, and know how loyal he is, Leon and Kay mostly, look pitying. They probably think Arthur has lost something dear to him, and he has, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the implications.

“Habit.” He says gruffly, “Continue with training.”

When the sounds of swords clashing together resume, Arthur strolls casually as he can across the training field. Merlin is hovering, both in the literal and figurative sense, next to the water table. He looks guilty as Arthur pours himself a drink. What Merlin has to feel guilty about, Arthur doesn’t know. It’s not Merlin’s fault he ended up like this. Okay, that isn’t exactly true. The idiot jumped in front of the spell all on his own, but he did it to save Arthur so it’s more Arthur’s fault and responsibility than anyone else’s.

Merlin squeezes his shoulder. It doesn’t feel as strange through the layers of chainmail and fabric, but it still lacks the warmth Arthur is used to.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin says.

Arthur raises the cup to his mouth to hide it when he murmurs, “What for?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admits, “but it felt like the right thing to say.”

“None of this is your fault, Merlin.” Arthur says, risking a glance directly at him, “You were trying to save me, and you did. I will find a way to get you back in your body, you have my promise.”

“Don’t promise that.” Merlin sighs, “I know you. If you can’t figure out how to do it, you will never forgive yourself.”

Merlin is right of course. Arthur is already trying to calculate how much sleep he can miss without being so tired he gives himself up. He has no idea where to start the research, but he’ll read every book in the library if he has to. It’s what the two of them do, get each other out of impossible situations. Still, Merlin is probably wise not to let Arthur swear an oath.

The rest of the day goes by without much notice. He bathes after training, and that’s how he discovers Merlin’s temporary replacement is none other than George. As if his life couldn’t get worse. Merlin seems to find it hilarious for some unfathomable reason. Arthur has dinner with his father and Morgana. His father is dismissive, Morgana glares daggers at him from across the table. Neither of those things are terribly unusual. 

His mind mostly strays to Merlin. He has a sneaking suspicion that getting Merlin back to his body, assuming Merlin is right and he really isn’t dead, will require a magical solution. He knows as well as anyone that there are no texts on magic left in the castle. Growing up, he thought it a wise choice. After all, why tempt fate? Now, though, he sees the error in that way of thinking. Many citizens and even Camelot itself have fallen under charms before, and while Arthur has been very lucky in stumbling across easy solutions, he won’t always be that lucky. They should at least have kept the books on enchantment and curse breaking, so as to prepare for this very eventuality. Merlin is cursed, and Arthur would kill for a book on curses right now.

Tense dinner over and done with, he rises from his chair. Normally he would stay and chat with his father, and the break from routine does not go unnoticed. His father squints at him suspiciously, and Arthur is glad Merlin decided to stay upstairs waiting for Arthur’s return. His father may not have been able to see Merlin, but Arthur knows that if he tried to lie about Merlin with merlin in the room, it would painfully obvious he was making up excuses to leave.

“I’m turning in early.” Arthur says by way of explanation, “Turns out trying to go about your day with a servant is more tiring than it would seem.”

“Typical.” Morgana sneers, “Merlin dies protecting you and all you can think about is how much work you had to get done today.”

“Morgana,” his father says warningly, “while many were fond of this Merlin, he was still only a servant.”

Merlin wasn’t only anything. He was, is, Arthur’s friend in a way far more real than the comradery he holds with the knights, or the decade of knowing Leon. Merlin is the only person Arthur trust implicitly. Perhaps it’s foolish to put all your trust in one person, but he can’t believe Merlin would ever betray him. He’s suspected Merlin of keeping secrets, but whatever they are, Arthur works to be worthy of Merlin telling him one day. There are moments he thinks it’s closer than he hoped, where Merlin looks at him like he’s about to say something only to close his mouth and shake his head.

He leaves his father and Morgana bickering over dinner, and makes his way back to his chambers. George is waiting there, ready to help Arthur change for bed, but having someone else help him take his armor off was bad enough. He doesn’t want anyone to help strip out of his regular clothes as well.

“That’s all for the night, George, thank you.” Arthur says stiffly, and George bows respectfully and exits the room.

“How come I never get a please or thank you?” Merlin asks from his perch at the end of Arthur’s bed. 

Arthur sighs and steps behind his changing screen, “Because you’re an idiot who needs to be reminded to do his job constantly.” A pair of sleep trousers soar over the edge of his changing screen and land on his head. Arthur stops changing for a moment, and poke his head around the corner to glare at Merlin, “Did you just throw trousers at me?”

“I would never.” Merlin swears, with his best innocent expression, “I respect you far too much.”

Arthur ducks back behind his changing screen without response. His fear of Merlin turning into a raving poltergeist has dissipated somewhat. He has to remind himself constantly that Merlin was always this cheeky and disrespectful in life, and that there’s nothing to worry about. He’s considered sharing his concerns with Merlin, but he doesn’t want to put any additional stress on Merlin’s shoulders, strange as it sounds. 

He tugs on his sleep trousers, and pulls a nightshirt over his head. When he steps out into the room again, Merlin has a book open on his lap. Arthur decides not to interrupt his reading for the moment, and clambers into bed. It’s a strange sensation, seeing Merlin there but being unable to feel his weight on the end of the bed. Arthur stretches his legs out to get comfortable.

Merlin sends him an irritated look over one shoulder, “You just shoved your feet right through my pelvis.”

The book tumbles onto the bed with a faint thud as Merlin vanishes from existence, After a few days of this, Arthur still isn’t suite used to it, but it doesn’t scare him half to death anymore either. The book is set aside, and Merlin fades back into view, looking far more solid in the firelight than he did in the sunshine. Arthur snorts, and shifts so his feet are to the right of were Merlin is sitting.

“Alright,” Merlin says, sounding put upon, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Arthur props himself up on the pillows, and raises his eyebrows at Merlin’s question, “Excuse me?”

“You’re never this quiet unless you’re thinking, and we all know how that works out for you.” 

Arthur shifts guiltily under Merlin’s gaze. The covers of his bed feel stifling now instead of comforting, and he has a sudden urge to run. Where he’d go, he has no idea. Besides, he wasn’t raised to back down from challenges just because they got challenging. 

“It’s my fault you died.” Arthur admits, but keeps his gaze fixed on the desk next to his bed. 

“I keep telling you,” Merlin insists, “I’m not dead.”

“A ghost then.”

“Not a ghost.”

Arthur throws a pillow at him. Merlin ducks even though it would have just gone tumbling harmlessly through him. Some reflexes stick with you even after death, apparently. It’s strangely comforting that Merlin is mostly still the same person Arthur knew, knows. Trying to figure out how to refer to Merlin is perhaps the most confusing part of this whole situation. 

“I’m being serious.” He tells Merlin.

“So am I.” Merlin responds, hands on hips, “We had no idea that that sorcerer would be there. You tried to keep me behind you, but I thought I could take him. It isn’t your fault, and it isn’t doing us any good you blaming yourself. There’s no point in worrying about faults or should-have-beens.” 

“You’re my servant. You’re meant to be in my care.” Arthur explains, trying to make merlin understand, “You’re not a knight, and it’s my duty to protect you.”

“Arthur, we’re friends.” Merlin says, and it’s a relief that Merlin knows even if Arthur can’t bring himself to properly acknowledge that yet, “Friends protect each other. I’m not as useless as you think I am, and you’re not as strong as you pretend to be. You have my back as I have yours.”

“One day, I hope you tell me where you get all this wisdom from.” Arthur says, squinting at Merlin like he’s a puzzle, “It’s off-putting every time.”

Merlin grins at him, bright and happy. The inside of Arthur’s chest itches in response. It isn’t fair that that expression is what soothes the clawing in Arthur’s chest. He shouldn’t be so reliant on the opinion of others, but Merlin never really gave him a choice. From the moment he set foot in Camelot, he made his opinions known to Arthur and never really stopped. Arthur will never admit it out loud, but he does admire Merlin for it.

“I’ll tell you one day, when the time is right.” Merlin says, and it sounds like a promise, “Now go to sleep. You’re useless to me if you’re exhausted.”

“I’m sorry my need for sleep is such an inconvenience to you, Merlin.” Arthur says critically as he slides back under his covers again. He tugs them up over his shoulders to ward off the last of the winter chill still hanging in the air even though it’s now spring.

Merlin mutters something under his breath, and it makes Arthur smile. If Merlin is in the mood to be surly, then not all hope is lost. There have been days before when Merlin has shut down for a week if not more, and each time it’s happened Arthur has worried that Merlin may never smile again. Merlin is handling this situation surprisingly well. 

A moment later, Merlin snuffs out the candle next to Arthur’s bed, and Arthur lets his eyes drift shut. All he has on his schedule tomorrow is training. He’ll start research as soon as he leaves the practice fields.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunlight falls across Arthur’s face and he lets out a soft groan, pressing his face into the pillow where it’s still dark. Of course he forgot to close the curtains last night. That’s just how his life is going these days. 

“Merlin.” Arthur whines without removing his face from the pillow despite the fact it’s quite difficult to breathe like that, “close the curtains.”

“Don’t think I will. The sooner you get to training, the sooner you can help me with research.” comes the cheerful reply, followed by the sound of a page turning in a book.

Arthur raises his head from his pillow and glares balefully at Merlin’s form. He’s still perched on the end of the bed where Arthur left him the night before, nose buried in a book. Though, if Arthur squints, he’s fairly certain that it is a different book to what Merlin was reading the night before. Arthur throws a pillow at him out of sheer force of habit, and it sails right through Merlin unimpeded. Merlin lets off a full body shudder, and turns to send Arthur a very irritated look.

“Why do you always throw things at me?” he asks, flickering out of visibility because of his grip on the book. 

Arthur should be more used to this by now, but he still flinches. He’s not sure if he’ll ever come to terms with Merlin slipping into unreality. For all that Merlin has been a living riddle for as long as Arthur’s known him, he’s always been very solid, more solid than any of the nobles Arthur has to interact with on a daily basis. The only other two people who comes close to Merlin’s ability to simply _exist_ in the world, are Guinevere and Morgana. They’re the ones who keep him in check, who don’t let his status as a prince go to his head/

“Because I find you incredibly irritating.” Arthur answers, sitting up properly, “and for god’s sake set aside that book while you’re speaking. The flickering in and out is giving me a headache.”

“I wouldn’t be flickering in and out if I hadn’t taken that curse for you.”

“What happened to it not being my fault?”

“Last night you weren’t being a prat, this morning you are.”

“Any chance at breakfast?” Arthur asks, deciding he’s not in the mood to continue this verbal sparring match before he’s even properly dressed.

Merlin deliberately sets aside the book he was reading in order to fix Arthur with that unimpressed look he gets, lips pressed together, eyebrows raised, while saying “Would you like to explain to your father why a tray of food magically floated to your room?”

“Useless.” Arthur mutters.

“You could just walk to the door and ask a passing servant to fetch it,” Merlin says like Arthur is missing the obvious, “you know, like a competent and well-adjusted human being.”

Arthur swings himself out of bed, and crosses the room, avoiding various flotsam, such as boots and laundry, as he goes, “How is it that you are more irritating as a ghost?”

“Not a ghost.” Merlin reminds him, making no move to rise from the end of Arthur’s bed.

Arthur rolls his eyes, and sticks his head into the hallway. Other than the guards standing sentry at either end of the corridor, it’s empty. It must be earlier than Arthur thought because normally by the time Merlin swans in with breakfast, the world outside has long since risen and the corridor is flooded with people. He supposes he should consider himself lucky. He hadn’t exactly kept his voice down when he was bickering with Merlin, and anyone passing by probably would have been under the assumption that he’d gone mad. 

Sunlight enters through one high slit window a few paces away. It falls across the flagstone at a slant, illuminating the edge of the corridor closest to the window in golden light. The rest of the corridor is still slightly in shadow. It can’t be more than an hour passed dawn. When Arthur rescues Merlin, he’s going to kill him.

Finally a maid wanders down towards Arthur’s room. Her brown hair is pulled into a simple bun, and she has a basket of laundry balanced on one hip. Normally Arthur wouldn’t think to ask her for help, it isn’t her duty to fetch the prince’s breakfast, but if he doesn’t ask now then he’s likely to be waiting a good long while for someone else to come.

“Excuse me,” he calls out politely, very aware of Merlin judging him a few feet away, “when you get a chance, could you ask someone to send up my breakfast? I’m still out a manservant.”

“Of course, My Lord.” She says with a little curtsey, and hurries on her way.

Arthur ducks back inside his chambers, and turns to face Merlin, hands on hips.

“How come I never rate that much politeness?” Merlin complains.

“Because you’re an idiot who does things like wake the prince just after dawn.”

“I was bored,” Merlin says, and Arthur swears it’s almost a whine. He’s never heard merlin whine before, “you sleep so much and that leaves me to sneak down to Gaius’s and borrow boring old books on curses to read on my own.”

Arthur shakes his head, “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps you should also sleep?”

“It did, actually. But every time I closed my eyes, I just sort of stayed in your room. I don’t think I need to sleep when I’m like this.”

“I suppose that’s another rule we should add to the growing list of rules on being a ghost.”

“Still not a ghost.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur grumbles, “Did you find anything useful?”

“No, but it would go faster if I had some help.” Merlin says with a hopeful smile.

“I already told you, we aren’t telling Gaius.”

“I wasn’t talking about Gaius, I was talking about a certain prat with a free afternoon.”

“Fine. I’ll help you research after training.”

“How magnanimous of you, Sire.”

“You really are just as much of a fool when you’re a ghost.”

The exasperated, “Not a ghost!” is still echoing in Arthur’s ears when someone from the kitchens arrives with breakfast.

*

“Prince Arthur,” Geoffrey says in surprise, brushing dust from his robes, “I was not expecting you. You rarely visit the library.”

Arthur ignores that pointed comment. He’d liked the library as a child, but as he got older he was forced to sit still there for hours on end reading the driest historical tomes known to man. Since then the library has been odious to him. It brings back memories of trying to recall dates for battles waged so long ago that the initial accounts were written in a language no one speaks any longer.

“I have a request.” Arthur says, cutting to the heart of the manor.

Geoffrey sits straighter, an excited twinkle in his eyes, “Go on.”

“I was wondering if we had any volumes on ghosts.”

“Ghosts, Sire?”

“Yes.” Arthur says, already inventing a quick lie so as this doesn’t get back to his father, “Morgana has informed me that some of the maid staff have grown concerned that their quarters are being haunted. I thought if I could give Morgana tips on warding and other such rubbish, she could inform the maid staff and they may stop pestering her maidservant.”

“That is very kind of you, My Lord,” Geoffrey says, looking close to approving, “but why iss the Lady Morgana not doing the research?”

“I had a free afternoon, but she is caught writing political correspondence to the women of other kingdoms. Honestly, I stopped listening part way through her explanation. She’s busy, but I’m not.” Arthur explains with an arrogant wave of his hand as if none of this matters. As if Merlin’s very life doesn’t hang in the balance.

Geoffrey rises from his desk and leads the way through the shelves with shuffling steps. He mutters to himself as he walks, fingers stroking his white goatee as he thinks. Finally he comes to a stop in front of a shelf in the western portion of library, and scans the titles of the books piled haphazardly anywhere they can fit. For a man who takes books as seriously as Geoffrey, Arthur was expecting more organization than this.

Geoffrey reaches up one wrinkled hand, and tugs a book off the shelf. He presses it into Arthur’s arms, then returns for another. By the time he finishes, Arthur has a stack of three books of varying sizes and thickness of dust layers.

“I’m afraid that’s all we have, Sire.” Geoffrey explains, “Many of the books on spirits on ghosts were removed during the purge because they featured magic used to summon them.”

Arthur wants to scream. Of course the damn purge has to get in the way. There are moments when he thinks that he might be able to see why so many sorcerers attack Uther. It must be incredibly frustrating to not to be able to reverse curses and the like because the man meant to protect them all burned books indiscriminately. 

“Thank you, Geoffrey. I will return these as soon as possible.”

Merlin is perched at Arthur’s desk by the time Arthur returns with his stack of books. Merlin’s head whips up when the doors open, but visibly relaxes when he sees Arthur.

“People have been popping in and out all morning,” Merlin complains, “your father has brought poor Morris back into your service, and he spent ages tidying. Then he undid the system I spent years perfecting for your clothes in about five minutes. Where were you?”

Arthur glances around the room curiously, and is surprised to find it cleaner than merlin had ever managed. He never quite realized how much he enjoyed living in carefully controlled chaos until it was tidied away as it used to be. 

“Morris was my servant before you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s the whole reason we even met.” Merlin reminds him, “You were being a prat to him in the square, so I challenged you.”

Arthur smiles a bit at the memory, “You were even more rubbish at fighting then than you are now.”

“If we’re done insulting me, can we get to research?”

Arthur deposits the books he borrowed from Geoffrey on his desk, and shoos Merlin out of his chair. He cracks one open, and coughs a little at the cloud of dust that flies into his face with the motion. Apparently books on ghosts aren’t very popular among those allowed to access the castle’s library. It would just be Arthur’s luck to catch some sort of lung infection while trying to save someone’s life. 

Merlin takes up residence on the floor in front of the fire place, with an array of books spread out around him. He wonders if Gaius will notice such a large stack of his books gone. His work bench is always a cluttered mess, but Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if Gaius had a mental map of the entire space, down to the very last dust bunny.

They work in silence, only broken by the sound of pages turning. The first book Arthur flips through is utterly useless. It reads more like children’s tales than actual advice on how to deal with spirits. The second book is all about proper funeral rites so as to avoid creating ghosts. It is more useful than the first, but as there was no body left to bury, it isn’t really applicable. The last has an entire section on restless spirits, and if Merlin is anything, it’s probably that. Every subsection is about a different type of restless spirit, but every conclusion is the same.

The restless spirit needs to be laid to rest or else it will seek to destroy all that is good.

Arthur is once again reminded of those campfire stories he’s heard on patrol, and once more shudders at the thought of Merlin turning evil. He can’t let that happen, no matter how hard it is going to be to say goodbye to his only friend.

“Merlin…” he says hesitantly.

Merlin looks up from his stack of books, eyes bright with hope, “Find anything?”

“Sort of,” Arthur hedges, “but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Merlin frowns, and glides creepily gracefully across the floor, “Why? What is it?”

Arthur shoves the book over so Merlin can get a look. The hope drops from Merlin’s face like a lead weight. His hands curl into fists, and if he was still alive, there’s no doubt in Arthur’s mind that Merlin’s knuckles would be white.

“You are not banishing me.” Merlin says darkly.

Arthur grimaces, and automatically reaches out to pat Merlin reassuringly on the shoulder. His hand slips straight through, and they both shudder. “I don’t like it any more than you do…”

“I am not a restless spirit!” Merlin shouts, “I’m not!”

“Merlin, you took a curse meant for me. Your body vanished in an explosion of light.” Arthur insists, “You died that day. We both have to accept that.”

“I’m not dead!” Merlin shouts, tugging at his hair in frustration, “How do I get that through your thick head? I’m not dead!”

Arthur finds himself wondering when their roles reversed. For as long as they’ve known each other, Arthur has been the one with the short temper, ready to lash out given half a thought. Merlin has always been the rational one, the one to calm Arthur down with a smart remark, or a well-timed eye roll. Now it appears it’s the other way around. Death changes many things, so it would seem.

Arthur decides to play along, if only to keep Merlin calm, “How can you tell?”

“I can feel it.” Merlin says with a faraway look, “I can feel my body.”

“What?” Arthur asks on a gasp, eyes widening.

Merlin squints as though he’s trying to focus on something just out of reach, “It’s… I’m somewhere cold, everything is damp. There’s scratchy fabric, maybe a blanket?”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, sitting forward, “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes.” Merlin says without hesitation, “I’m alive somewhere.”

Arthur sits stunned into silence. Dust still hangs in the air in front of him, catching in the late afternoon sunlight. For a long while, the dust moats are the only motion in the room. Merlin is alive somewhere. Merlin isn’t dead, isn’t a restless spirit here to haunt Arthur for failing to save him. Merlin, of all people, is in need of rescuing.

“We change tactics.” Arthur says abruptly.

“To what?”

“This whole time, we’ve been looking at books on spirits and ghosts, but we should be focusing our attentions on spells and curses.”

Merlin scratches at his cheek awkwardly, “Not to be a downer, but I do feel the need to point out that Uther had all books regarding magic burned.”

Arthur glares at him, “Well there has to be someone we can ask.”

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.” 

“At this point, even your stupid ideas are worth something.”

“There are people who are still well versed in the Old Religion, and we know where to find them.” Merlin says hesitantly.

“What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know how likely they are to help.”

“Just spit it out, Merlin.” Arthur snaps, “We haven’t got all day.”

“The druids.”

*

Arthur thought Merlin fading in the sunlight would be the oddest thing about Merlin’s… temporarily disembodied state, but he can add two more things to the list. The first: after some trial and error, he’s discovered that while Merlin can touch and interact with things, books and even Arthur himself, it doesn’t go the other way around. Merlin can pat Arthur’s shoulder, turn pages, pick up clothes, but anything thrown at him passes right through. When Arthur reaches to punch Merlin in the shoulder or ruffle his hair like normal, Arthur’s hand meets nothing but air. The second: while sunlight leeches Merlin’s essence (spirit? soul?), the forest restores it.

They ride one horse together, Merlin in the back with his arms around Arthur. It’s probably a pointless exercise. Merlin is… whatever he is, and it means he’s not even sitting properly on Hengroen’s saddle. He hovers, as always, about a hair off any surface he tries to sit on. He isn’t likely to get jostled or fall off, but he hasn’t seemed to master the ability to pop up wherever he so chooses like other ghosts.

Still, in the forest, Merlin is more solid. Arthur can feel the weight of Merlin’s arms around him more and more with every step they take. Merlin starts to seem like flesh and bone instead of a reflection in a distant pond. Even the sound of his breathing, unnecessary as it is, is louder in Arthur’s ear than before. It both settles and unnerves Arthur.

It gives him hope that Merlin truly can be saved. That they really will be able to find his body, and perhaps this solidification process means Arthur is heading in the right direction. It’s unnerving in that Merlin isn’t actually corporeal. His breath, where it falls against the back of Arthur’s neck isn’t warm, it’s a forest breeze. He can see and feel and Merlin’s arms around him, but his hand still goes straight through if he tries to pat Merlin bracingly on the arm. It’s as though Merlin is straddling the line between worlds. He is caught in the veil between worlds itself.

“Over there.” Merlin says into his ear, and points with one hand in a seemingly random direction between the trees.

Arthur looks over his shoulder with a frown, reigning Hengroen to a stop as he does, “How the hell do you know that?”

“It’s a ghost thing.” Merlin responds and holds up a finger, “No. Shut up. I know I’m not a ghost, but I have absolutely no idea what to call myself. Now trust me, there’s a settlement over between the trees.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but reigns Hengroen over to the direction that Merlin pointed. It looks like nothing but a tangle of brambles and bushes. Green leaves poking through green branches, and occasional brightly colored berry poking through. Arthur rides towards the thicket, thinking smugly about rubbing it in Merlin’s face when they aren’t able to pass through. Instead, the thicket opens up before them. A path clears, and Hengroen trots on unimpeded. 

“What the hell…” Arthur mutters, mostly to himself.

Merlin shrugs, “Not all druids have magic, but a lot of them are capable of using concealment totems. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time, please ditch the Pendragon cape. They’re going to take one look at you, and turn you away, and I would really like to get my body back.”

“Why are you such a worry wart, Merlin?” Arthur asks, ducking a low hanging branch.

Said branch passes right through Merlin’s head, and he doesn’t seem to notice, wrapped up in his own worry as he is. Arthur notices though, and it makes him feel a bit ill. Merlin looks like he does any other day; worn brown leather jacket, tatty neckerchief. He doesn’t _look_ like a displaced soul, or spirit, or ghost, or whatever the hell he is. Then something like a branch passes through his head, and Arthur remembers all over again of their problem.

“Would you like a chronological list of our misadventures, or would you prefer it alphabetically?” Merlin asks, voice going tight with annoyance.

Arthur blinks, thinks about it, and bobbles his head, “Fair point.”

“Are you ditching the cape?” Merlin asks hopefully.

“No. It’s important that they trust me with this information because _I_ am trustworthy, not because I lied to them.”

“Normally, I am all in favor of you being noble and just,” Merlin says, eyebrows raised, “but I really want my body back.”

Before Arthur can respond, they’re suddenly there. Hengroen stumbles to a halt, ears twitching nervously. Around them, druids stare at Arthur with wide eyes, they flicker nervously over his crimson cape and shy away from him as though he’s about to strike out at any second. Guilt twists in his stomach. These aren’t the monsters his father warned about. He thought he’d learned his lesson after… Apparently he needed to be reminded of their humanity. Nothing makes it more clear than them staring at him in fear when they out number him thirty to one.

“Please. I have no intention of causing you harm.” Arthur pleads, “I need your help.”

An old woman totters out of her tent. She stares at Arthur with pale eyes, and her eyes widen. She stares at a point over Arthur’s shoulder, and his heart leaps in his chest. It seems as though she’s staring right at Merlin. Absurdly, Arthur wants her to see him. It would confirm that Merlin really is still alive and around.

“Can she see me?” Merlin hisses in his ear.

The old woman smiles, looking motherly and warm, “I can hear you, Spirit, though I can only vaguely make out your shape.”

Merlin lets out a surprised laugh, and leaps from the horse in that eerily graceful way that is so unnatural on him. He rushes over to the old woman, clasps her hands in his. He gazes at her entreatingly, eyes large and very blue.

“Please, I just want to get back to my body.”

“You are very lucky, Arthur Pendragon.” The old woman says, ignoring Merlin’s plea entirely, “Very lucky, indeed, to have a guardian spirit such as this. It is a rare occurrence.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asks disbelievingly, “I’ve seen Merlin trip over air.”

Merlin turns his head to glare at him, unimpressed. 

“You should not mock the spirit, young Pendragon. You never know when you might incur their disfavor.” 

“Yeah.” Merlin says with a teasing grin, “Wouldn’t want to incur my disfavor.”

Arthur elects to ignore him, “He isn’t a spirit. He’s just… disembodied. His body is still alive somewhere, we’ve come seeking knowledge on how to return him.”

The old woman’s eyes flicker between them sadly, and she attempts to pat Merlin’s hand, but her own pass right through, “I’m sorry, we do not study such practice here. Soul magic is unstable even in the purest hands, to twist it into a curse such as this… Even if we had people among us with magic enough to do something, we wouldn’t know how.”

“So… our trip is wasted.” Arthur says, heart sinking rapidly. Judging by the look on Merlin’s face, he’s feeling he same. Arthur has spent enough time around him to know what Merlin looks like with tears in his eyes. While the disembodied don’t seem able to shed tears, Arthur doesn’t doubt it would be one of those moments where if Merlin were whole, his eyes would be sparkling. Just as every time Arthur has seen Merlin’s face do that in the past, he nearly drowns in his need to set the world to rights.

“Please,” he tries again, “can you steer us to anyone who might know?”

“Aglain.” The old woman says, voice thick with pity, “He has the most magic knowledge out of any of us. I’m afraid he might be the only one who could help.”

“Thank you.”

*

“I’m sorry,” Aglain says, voice heavy with regret as pats Arthur’s neck with work-rough hands, “curses like the ones you speak of are forbidden among the druids, and have been for so long that we have all forgotten their mechanics.”

Next to Arthur, Merlin goes very still and silent. That’s even worse than when Merlin tries not to cry. It means he’s so deeply devastated that he has given up any hope of being alright again. It’s only happened twice before that Arthur can remember, but each time he felt like he was scrambling to find purchase to keep Merlin from sinking.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Arthur asks.

“I’m afraid no druid will hold he answer, and not many of the rogue magic wielders have the power to even level a spell that strong. To rend a soul from its body without killing… it is the cruelest of acts.” Aglain says seriously, “Not even the high priestesses would do such a thing, and their order was founded for war.”

“There’s no one who can help, is there?”

“I truly am sorry.”

“I thought…” Arthur trails off, clenching his jaw.

“Thought what?” Aglain asks gently.

“I thought that all magic was like this, or that all magic wielders were capable.”

“Just as there are just kings and tyrants, there are magic wielders. Good, bad, middling.”


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur slams the book shut and drags hands through his hair in frustration. He really thought the druids were going to be able to help, that they would have all the answers and Merlin would be back to annoying him in the physical plain again in no time. Now they’re here, going through the last dregs of books that Merlin was able to smuggle from the library, and they aren’t any closer to their goal than when they rode out to meet the druids in the first place.

Merlin’s body is somewhere. It’s cold and damp and unsafe, and the sorcerer could figure out where Merlin’s body is any second and decide to properly make Merlin a ghost, and it is all Arthur’s fault. IF he had just paid closer attention to their surroundings, if he hadn’t been so focused on that damn scar and his own stubborn need to figure out how Merlin got it then perhaps Merlin would be safe. They wouldn’t be going through books thicker than Arthur’s arm, and instead perhaps be goofing off somewhere where his father couldn’t see. 

Arthur is a knight. Not even just a knight, but Camelot’s first knight. If anyone should have been able to keep Merlin safe from this, it should be him. He is the fighter to of the two of them, and he is the prince. The spell was meant for him, and he should have been the one to take it. He should have been faster, he should have shoved Merlin out of the way. He should have known that Merlin would try to save him, it’s how they met after all, and the two of them have done it enough times that it is practically standard procedure for one of them to try to save the other.

The consequences usually aren’t so permanent, and the solution has never been this difficult to find. 

It sits badly in Arthur’s stomach. It keeps him up late into the night while he pretends to sleep. He can’t help feeling that the longer they take to get Merlin back to his body, the less likely it is to happen. Even if the sorcerer who cursed him never finds his body, Merlin could very well be stuck as a disembodied soul forever. Arthur might be the only one who can see or hear him for the rest of time. 

And what happens when Arthur inevitably grows old and dies? Will Merlin be stuck wandering the earth alone for the rest of eternity? His only interaction with others coming when they notice that he’s moved a pitcher or a curtain? Will Merlin move on when his old dies of old age? With magic involved, will his body even age to begin with?

Arthur presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until sparks begin to glitter behind his eyelids. It is his fault that the one person he can think of as a sort of friend is potentially condemned until the end of time. Oh, he isn’t fooling anyone, not even his father. Merlin is his friend, the only one he truly has. He would give up his life to keep Merlin safe, and Merlin would do the same for him. He just didn’t think it would ever happen. 

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Merlin says softly, “Come on, it’ll be alright.”

Arthur removes his hands from his eyes and sits up properly, still staring blankly at the spread of books before him. He wishes he could d=touch Merlin back, even if it was just to punch him on the shoulder, or put him in a headlock. He never realized how physical the two of them were with each other until the option was taken from him.

“I don’t see how any of this will be alright, Merlin.” Arthur says, trying to put the usual amount of sneer into Merlin’s name.

Merlin has apparently grown too clever to fall for Arthur’s act. Maybe being disembodied gives you a special kind of enlightenment, or maybe Merlin just knows him that well. He just squeezes Arthur’s shoulder comfortingly and says, “It isn’t your fault.”

Arthur turns his head so he can glare at Merlin, “How is it not my fault? That spell was meant for me. If you had been out there by yourself…”

“If I was out there by myself, I might have been attacked by bandits, or eaten by a wolf, or maybe I would have somehow fallen into the river, gotten tangled in the reeds, and drowned.” Merlin says soothingly, and it is really very strange that a list of ways to die is soothing, “Life is random, and sometimes you get dealt a bad hand. All we can do is continue on.”

“When did you get so calm and rational about things? You practically shake in your boots every time I even suggest leaving the castle.” Arthur complains.

Merlin shrugs, “Your chance at getting dealt a bad hand are higher than most people’s. Besides, I only worry when you get it into your head to do something stupid.”

“When have I ever done something stupid?” Arthur asks, turning fully to face Merlin.

“Well, there was that time we rode out to save Gwen from that warlord and we ran into Lancelot again. There was the time you rode out to defeat a griffin that could only be killed by magic. Oh! That time you went and got the morteus flower for me and nearly died and then got locked in the dungeons for a week.” 

“Those weren’t stupid! They were noble! Besides, all of it ended up fine. I’m still alive, Gwen is still alive, Lancelot is still alive and will one day return to be a knight of Camelot, you’re… well…” Arthur trails off and notices Merlin smirking at him, “What?”

“Well, if everything turned out alright before, why wouldn’t it now?”

“There will come a time my luck runs out, Merlin, but I would greatly prefer it not happen when your life hangs in the balance especially not when your life hangs in the balance because you dove in to save me. I never asked you to die for me, I never wanted that.”

Merlin’s face loses all of its teasing, and he shifts so he’s sitting on the corner of Arthur’s desk closest to Arthur himself, “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Arthur, not every bad thing that happens is your fault. Honestly a lot of the time it’s Uther’s—”

“Watch your tongue.” Arthur snaps reflexively.

“What are you going to do? Have me executed?” Merlin jokes, face crinkling up into a grin.

Arthur scowls, “Oh as long as you’re taking this seriously.”

“Look,” Merlin says, serious once more, “you can go on being miserable and guilty if you really want to, but it isn’t doing me any good right now. I need sharp Arthur, not self-loathing Arthur.”

Arthur slumps back in his chair and gestures at the table in a way that encompasses the general mess he and Merlin made pawing through Geoffrey’s books. After the first few days of research, Geoffrey became so suspicious of Arthur’s reading habits he threatened to tell Uther. After that they had resorted to sneaking and theft. Merlin argued that you couldn’t steal something that belonged to you, but Arthur still isn’t convinced. It certainly feels a lot like theft. 

Bright afternoon sunshine streams in through the windows, and a light breeze blows across Arthur’s neck, making him shiver. He feels like the weather should be worse. It should somehow reflect the seriousness of this situation. It shouldn’t be allowed to be sunny and perfect for training when Arthur has no idea how to save his friend.

“We’ve looked through every book in the library that had any references to curses or spirits, there is nowhere to go from here. Even the druids couldn’t point us in the direction of someone who might know something.”

“There might be one last resource we’ve overlooked.” Merlin says guiltily.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, “And you’ve decided to keep this from me because?”

“You’re really not going to like the implications.”

“Just tell me.”

“You have to promise me something first.”

“Merlin.” Arthur says, hand itching to throw something in exasperation. 

“Hey!” Merlin says indignantly, “I’m the one currently without a body so I think you have to agree to my terms.”

“Fine. Anything to get you back in your body so I can put you in the stocks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, then scratches his jaw in that way he does when he’s anxious, “You have to promise that you won’t get upset with this person for technically committing treason.”

“I swear if this is one of your sketchy tavern friends—”

“Promise me you won’t punish this person for their actions!” Merlin says more aggressively. 

Arthur throws his hands up in surrender, “Fine. I promise I won’t punish this person for their actions.”

“Gaius has a lot more books on magic than Geoffrey.” 

Arthur blinks at Merlin, and raises his eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“Gaius saved a lot of books from the purge, and we’ve used them before in sticky situations too break curses and enchantments on you and others.” Merlin explains, “You already promised not to punish him for his actions!”

“We will deal with the implications of this later, right now we need to sneak some of Gaius’s books.”

“Or we could just ask for his help?”

Arthur pushes away from his table and slips on the coat closest to him. It happens to be the long brown one that Morgana approves of, and the one that he always seems to be wearing when things get all strange. Apparently he’s keeping that tradition alive.

“We’ll feel out the situation when we get there.” Arthur says gruffly, and exits his room. 

Merlin keeps pace with him easily in the halls. In the past he would have had to dodge the servants and guards that always seem to materialize right in Arthur’s path, but now he just passes right through them. It’s almost a little funny to see them shiver and murmurs to one another about someone walking over their grave. They have no idea how close they are to being right.

“Three sets of eyes are better than two,” Merlin argues, “and Gaius is tough. He cn handle the truth about me.”

“I don’t want to get his hopes up, in case you’ve forgotten.” Arthur hisses under his breath, and smiles at a passing guard. 

Merlin appears in front of him, mouth open to argue, but Arthur just charges right through him. He isn’t any more used to it than the first time he did it, but it does have the benefit of shutting Merlin up. Despite his complaining, he actually likes Merlin’s rambling. It just isn’t welcome in this moment. He has to find a way to sneak books out form Gaius’s nose, and that won’t be an easy feat even without Merlin yammering in his ear distracting him.

He shoves open the door to Gaius’s chambers and steps inside. Gaius is sitting in his chair by the fire, book in hand and half-moon glasses on his nose. Arthur has made efforts to check in on him over the last few weeks, trying to keep an eye out like Merlin would have wanted… does want? He’s been taking Merlin’s supposed death fairly well for a man who loved him as a son. Perhaps he is still deep in denial. Merlin does seem to have spectacular luck returning from the brink of death.

Gaius looks up as Arthur enters, and smiles wanly at him, “Can I help you, Sire?”

“I was wondering if I could have a look through your books.” Arthur says, “I was trying to look up an herbal remedy, but Geoffrey doesn’t have the book I was looking for.”

“AN herbal remedy?” Gaius asks, raising The Eyebrow.

“Yes. Leon mentioned something about his sword calluses bothering him, and I happen to have some free time.”

“I can recommend a few balms already made that would work well for that ailment.” Gaius says, closing his book and struggling to his feet. 

“He’s not buying it.” Merlin says smugly, “You may as well tell him.”

Arthur makes a flapping motion behind his back to shut Merlin up, “That would be very helpful, Gaius, thank you.”

Gaius squints suspiciously, but shuffles over to his shelves of balms and ointments. With Gaius distracted, Arthur turns to Merlin and makes gestures at the bookshelf. Merlin rolls his eyes and drifts over to the shelves. He bends close to the titles and starts scanning for the right one. Arthur turns back around just in time for Gaius to retrieve the balm and start shuffling back to where Arthur stands awkwardly a few steps inside the door.

“Will that be all, Sire?”

“Yes, Gaius. You’ve been most helpful.”

Behind him, Merlin makes an indignant sound and says, “Just tell him you dollop head!”

Arthur uses the hand behind his back to make a rude gesture in Merlin’s direction. The movement does not go unnoticed by Gaius, who squints even more suspiciously and pulls the balm out of Arthur’s reach. Oh hell. He’s going to have to lie to Gaius more than he already has. 

“Is everything alright, Sire?”

“Perfectly.” Arthur says with a smile.

“Oh for the love of!” Merlin snaps then tugs an empty vial off the shelf and hurls it at a wall. It explodes in a shatter of glass, and Gaius scowls at it.

He fixes Arthur with a glare, “Care to explain why a perfectly good beaker was just shattered when I asked if everything was alright?”

“Not really.” Arthur admits, quailing a little under the force of Gaius’s glare. 

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts so loud that Arthur flinches and sends a glare over his shoulder.

Gaius places one firm hand on his shoulder and directs Arthur to sit on the bench, and Arthur is distinctly reminded of all the times growing up when Gaius was there to lecture him on the importance of tending to wounds. He has that look on his face now, the one that says no arguments to the contrary can be heard.

“I seem to be being haunted by Merlin.” Arthur says through grit teeth.

Gaius lowers himself to sit across from Arthur at the table, “It is a common manifestation of grief to think our loved ones are sending us messages from beyond the grave.”

“I wish that was all it was. No, I mean I can see his spirit. Hear it as well, unfortunately. He’s even chattier now that he’s a disembodied soul.”

“You are being haunted by Merlin’s ghost.” Gaius says, flat and disbelieving.

“I know it sounds mad,” Arthur says quickly, “but the day after I thought he died in the woods, he showed up in my chambers as if nothing happened. The two of us have been researching ghosts and curses since.”

“Tell him about me not being a ghost.” Merlin adds eagerly.

Arthur waves a hand at him to shut him up, and Gaius’s eyes track the movement curiously. He is probably two seconds away from going and getting Uther and saying Arthur has had a break down. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Care to tell me what he’s saying right now, Sire?”

“He felt the need to remind me that he isn’t actually dead.”

“If you really are being haunted,” Gaius says kindly, “it is possible Merlin is in denial about his death.”

“I thought so at first too, but he swears he can still feel his body. He’s been insisting since day one that he isn’t dead, just temporarily displaced, but we haven’t come across any curses that would back that up.”

“And you came here because?”

“Merlin made me swear not to punish you for saving books from the purge,” Arthur explains, “and I won’t. If anything, I am grateful for your foresight. I’ve already been to see the druids, and they swore they had no idea how to wield magic capable of separating a body and soul.”

“Is he alright?” Gaius asks, sounding like a concerned father for the first time since Arthur walked in, “Wherever his body is, is he alright?”

“He said wherever he is, it is cold and damp and that the blanket was scratchy, but said nothing of any injuries.”

“Tell him I can hear him.” Merlin says, coming to sit next to Arthur, “I don’t want him to have to talk through you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but does as asked, “He wants to be sure you know he can hear everything you say. You don’t have to talk to me to get to him.”

Gaius squints in roughly the right direction, “It is good to have you back, my boy.”

Gaius staggers to his feet once more and he wanders over to his bookcase. One by one he pulls a stack of tomes the height of Arthur himself off the shelves. He sets them down on the table, and divides the pile into thirds. Arthur settles in for more long days of research.

*

_Spell to Induce Endless Sleep_

_Repeat the following incantation. Note it is stronger, and more likely to hold if spoken in the old tongue. The price for awakening the victim should fit the punishment the caster is inflicting, or the cause they wish to lobby for. For example: if one wishes to force someone to admit a wrongdoing, then the price for awakening their loved one should be the wrongdoer humbling themselves before the wronged._

This sounds like a promising start. The sorcerer’s intention was to force the king’s hand on magic. He practically declared it to be the case. Perhaps the spell went wrong somehow, he was under duress from Arthur trying to run him through, and it did strike the wrong person. 

_It is unwise to cast this on magic more powerful than yourself. They are able to fight the enchantment, and it often rips their souls from their bodies in the process. They will be displeased by your actions, and it is common for the enchanted to turn on the caster in revenge. This will not only break the spell, but end with the caster dead._

Arthur rereads the first two sentences over and over. As much as he wishes two plus two didn’t add to four in this scenario, it does. This description sounds almost exactly like what happened to Merlin, which means Merlin must have magic. Powerful magic too, by the sound of it. Melrin has lied to him for the better part of three years. 

“Merlin.” He says, fighting to keep calm.

Merlin looks up from the book he’s reading, puzzled frown on his face, “What?”

“Are you a sorcerer?”

“What? No!” Merlin shouts, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Arthur growls and shoves the book into Merlin’s line of sight. Merlin goes a bit pale when he reads the passage, “Because I seem to remember you confessing to my father in order to save Guinevere.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, desperation flashing in his eyes, “please. I don’t… you’ll chop my head off.”

“How… how could you? You’ve seen the harm magic can do. You are a victim of it yourself! And you still thought it a good idea to learn? Forget the dangers of magic, what if my father had discovered what you’d done?”

“It isn’t like that. I wanted to tell you, I swear.”

“Why didn’t you?” Arthur asks, “Why? Did you think you couldn’t trust me?”

“Arthur, you’ll kill me!” Merlin says desperately, then pauses, eyes going calculating, “Wait, you can’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can’t kill me.” Merlin says gleefully, “Neither can your father. You can’t kill me because my body isn’t even here!”

“What’s going on?” Gaius asks, coming back into the room after delivering his rounds.

“I’ve just discovered Merlin is a liar and a sorcerer.” Arthur says darkly.

“You have to understand,” Merlin says, hand wrapping around Arthur’s wrist in that strange not-quite-there touch, “I never chose magic. I’ve had it since I was born, and it didn’t have any purpose until I came to Camelot and met you. As frustrating as you can be, you’re my friend. I use my magic to keep you safe.”

“Name one time.”

“It’s how I got the scar on my chest.”

That draws Arthur up short, and he meets Merlin’s eyes with a confused frown, “The burn?”

“When you were bitten by the Questing Beast, I made a deal with a sorceress. My life for yours.” Merlin explains, “Only she tried to take my mother’s life, and then Gaius’s, and I couldn’t let her do that, not when the agreement was for me to go in your place. So we fought, and I killed her.”

“You should never have sacrificed yourself for me, Merlin. I never want that from you.”

“I am always going to try to sacrifice myself for you, just as you will always try to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Arthur drags a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted, “Tell me about the fight.”

Merlin tells him about how he got the burn scar on his chest; the truth about Nimueh and the questing beast. He tells other stories as well; about snakes coming to life on a shield, magically forging Lancelot’s papers, and defeating a creature of water and earth with fire and wind. It may serve to reinforce what the druids said about the grey nature of magic, but it only serves to make Arthur feel guiltier. All these times Merlin came close to dying or being exposed (same thing really) and Arthur had no idea. He is once more left with the distinct understanding that he does not deserve Merlin’s loyalty.


	6. Chapter 6

“Is there anything else, Sire?” Leon asks as Arthur downs a cup of water.

They’ve been training hard for the last two hours, and all of them are sweating profusely. Even the seasoned knights look a bit weary. Arthur knows it isn’t fair to put them through their paces like this just because of his guilt over Merlin, but he can’t help it. Every time he considers one of his men in the same position as Merlin, his heart races. None of them are as lucky as Merlin, none of them have gifts that they can call on. If they were hit by that spell, they wouldn’t get a chance to fix it. 

So he pushes them. He makes them press harder than ever before, because just maybe it will give them the advantage over someone of greater ability. If they can be quick, if they don’t hesitate, just maybe they can run their enemy through instead of laying down their lives too soon.

He has more or less forgiven Merlin for the lies over the years. In the end, there is no one as loyal to him as Merlin. Oh, his men would lay down their lives for him if it meant keeping him safe, but that is their duty to their prince. Merlin isn’t loyal to him because of titles, or the potential to wield influence himself if he gets into Arthur’s good graces. He’s loyal to Arthur because he believes wholeheartedly in what Arthur can achieve. He’s loyal to _Arthur_ , not Prince Arthur. Arthur still has to work out what that means for them.

“That is all, Leon.” Arthur agrees easily and pushes some of the sweaty hair from his forehead, “We’ve all been working hard, and I have to speak with Gaius.”

A brief concerned frown flits across Leon’s face, “Are you alright, Sire? I only ask because you seem to be spending quite a lot of time in the physician’s quarters.”

“All is well, I’ve simply taken an interest in more advanced field medicine.” 

It was the easiest lie they could come up with when Merlin pointed out that people were going to ask questions. Previously, Arthur only went to Gaius to get a wound patched up, or go hunting for Merlin when he was at the tavern. Or, not actually the tavern, but whatever quest he went on that week in order to keep Arthur safe. When Arthur is king, he’s going to appoint Merlin as official spymaster or something of the sort. He knows far too much about the movements of the people within Camelot to let such a talent go to waste. Of course, that would mean that Merlin would spend less time in Arthur’s chambers harassing him, and after this little excursion into the thin line between life and afterlife, Arthur is loath to let Merlin too far from him.

“You’ve taken an interest in medicine?” Leon asks, raising one skeptical eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed interests outside of beating all of you into the dirt?” Arthur asks archly.

Leon backs off with a slight differential bow, nodding, “Of course. My apologies, My Lord.”

“You’re dismissed for the day!” Arthur calls to the remaining knights dotted around the training field, “Be back tomorrow at the same time.”

The air is filled with the sounds of knights grumbling tiredly and nudging each other playfully as they walk. Weapons are whisked away from the bench by servants far more discreet and efficient than Merlin, and Arthur finds he misses the way Merlin always managed to turn putting away weapon sinto a performance. 

Leon must sense the directions his thoughts have taken because he reaches out and pats Arthur on the shoulder. He doesn’t say a word, just stands solidly at Arthur’s back like he has since Arthur made knight. He hopes Leon sticks around after the king’s death. Arthur could use a steadfast man like this by his side when it comes time for him to take the throne. 

Arthur chose to forgo chainmail today, so he is able to head directly to Gaius’s chambers after training. Merlin will probably put up a fight about how Arthur smells and should at least change clothes, and Arthur will have to remind him that since Merlin is dead, he can’t smell anything. He was worried, after the big reveal, that whatever made him and Merlin, him and Merlin, would be gone. That he would once again be left without a friend to call his own. 

The relief he felt when Merlin looked up from a book and lightly implied that Arthur didn’t know how to read was heady. He’d snapped an insult back, and it was as if everything was back to normal. Or as normal as can be when it turns out your manservant and friend is one of if not the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, and is currently temporarily missing his body.

Arthur pushes open the doors to Gaius’s chambers and calls out, “Find anything?”

The sight in front of him is so oddly normal. He can’t count the number of times he’s walked in here to find Merlin perched at Gaius’s workbench with a book open or grinding away at herbs. It looks like that now. Merlin has three or four thick tomes spread out in front of him, and he has that little furrow in is brow that indicates he’s concentrating hard. It could almost be any other day if it were not for the fact that Merlin hovers just a little above the bench.

He closes the door behind him as Gaius looks up. Arthur knows the answer to his question just by the worn lines around Gaius’s eyes. They’ve gotten deeper every day since he revealed Merlin to be alive if not totally whole. They’ve gotten deeper again. They haven’t found anything. 

“I’m afraid not, Sire. None of the books list a counter spell, or a way to break the curse.”

Merlin looks up as he’s turning a page, “Apparently, they never thought of a way to put souls back into bodies because they assumed no one would be stupid enough to try to curse someone like me.”

“Put the book down, Merlin.” Arthur reminds him tiredly as Merlin flickers from view

Merlin releases the page of the book he was reading, and fades back into reality on time to give Arthur an irritated glare. Arthur raises is eyebrows meaningfully, and Merlin rolls his eyes. Gaius glances between them, fond amusement playing on his face. The two of them and their nonverbal communication is a source of great confusion for most, Gaius seems to take it in stride as something unique and defining of Arthur and Merlin’s friendship.

“The curse can only be broken by fulfilling the terms laid out before speaking the spell,” Merlin repeats, “but no one has written what to do if the spell hits the wrong person, or if it is used against a powerful sorcerer.”

“As much as it inconveniences us, they would have had good reason for not coming up with a counter spell. The counter is built into the spell itself.” Gaius says sagely.

Merlin gestures one semi-transparent hand at himself, “I was not the one meant to take this curse! Arthur was!”

“Merlin!” Gaius says reproachfully, and Merlin’s shoulders hunch a little.

“Sorry.” Merlin says and sends Arthur an apologetic glance, “I don’t blame you, I’m just frustrated.”

“As are we all.” Arthur says, deciding to let the chance to bicker pass him by for once. Even he knows when it’s best not to poke a wound. He takes up position next to Merlin on the bench, and drags a tome over to himself, “I suppose we better get to it then.”

Gaius’s chambers have proven to be the best place to study these last few weeks. The library proved that Geoffrey was nosier than even the nosiest servant, and he always eyed Arthur with suspicion. Skipping his lessons as a boy because he found it difficult to sit still and listen at the same time, apparently branded him as a dullard for the rest of his life. His own chambers proved to be busier than he ever thought. George, his new manservant, fluttered in and out silently all throughout the day, not yet having mastered Merlin’s ability to give Arthur alone time when it was desperately needed but making it appear that chores were keeping him away. His father and Morgana also had a tendency to drop by unannounced. 

Gaius’s chambers don’t have Geoffrey or George. They are on the opposite side of the castle from Morgana’s chambers, and far enough away from the throne room that his father cannot find the time to come all the way here to find him. Gaius’s workbench may not be the most comfortable place to sit, but it is a safe place. Here there are no secrets or lies, not any longer. He just has Gaius’s warm approval over his concern for Merlin, something his father has shown he does not approve of, and Merlin himself. 

When he’s in Gaius’s chambers, he can sit pressed shoulder to shoulder with Merlin, and take comfort in the fact that he has not lost Merlin yet. Even though Merlin’s skin is now neutral to the touch instead of warm, even feeling a weight against him helps him keep his focus. He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost Merlin either to the fate of a poltergeist or to the afterlife itself. God help him, but he needs Merlin here. He’s the one to believe in Arthur’s ability to do right, and there are times when he’s Arthur’s moral compass. Although, that may need reconsidering in the future given the amount of blood on Merlin’s hands and the fact that he was the one to nudge Lancelot into committing fraud. 

Arthur soldiers through the tome in front of him with gritted teeth. Unlike what Geoffrey might think, Arthur understands the importance of keeping up with studies. It’s just that when the information starts to get particularly dry, Arthur’s mind has a tendency to want to be anywhere else. Words will start to blur before his eyes or run together, and he feels the need to move. It’s happening here, and the guilt twists inside him. If there was ever a time to focus, it would be when Merlin hangs in the balance. It’s just that movement and gut instinct has always come easier to Arthur than books.

Something pointed digs into his ribs, he realizes it’s Merlin’s elbow and he glances over to find Merlin squinting at him with amusement, “As long as you don’t drop it, I’m sure Gaius won’t mind if you pace.”

“A prince does not pace.” Arthur repeats reflexively.

“Princes are also not meant to care about their servants beyond making sure they are healthy enough to complete their duties.” Merlin points out, “Go on.”

Arthur sighs and clambers to his feet, book balanced between his forearms as he paces a slow circle around Gaius’s chambers. The tome is still dryer than dirt, but the pacing makes it easier to read. He feels like he should be embarrassed that Merlin knows him so well, but he supposes he knows Merlin just as well in return. He can tell when Merlin is annoyed or worried, or isn’t telling him everything. He can tell when something is troubling him. That must be what friendship is, and must be why Arthur clings to it so desperately. He’s never had someone know him that well, let know him so well while proving they will never use that knowledge against him. 

It explains the strangeness in his chest when he gets Merlin to smile that ridiculous grin that crinkles his whole face. His father may not approve of Arthur taking a servant’s opinion into account, but Arthur can’t help it when it comes to Merlin. Merlin is his friend, and when he smiles, Arthur knows he’s done something right.

He’s halfway through a long winded anecdote about a dryad worship rituals, so long winded in fact that it could put Lord Harrington to shame, when he notices something is off. For as long as Arthur has known Merlin, he’s never been still. Even when they’ve slept next to each other on the ground during hunting trips, Merlin has a tendency to wriggle about trying to find the warmest spot. So it must be the stillness that catches Arthur’s attention.

He looks up from his tome to find Merlin sitting frozen in the bench. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and possibly confusion. He gazes out at something, eyes unfocussed. His head is tilted, a bit like a dog trying to catch the sound of something just out of range. He doesn’t blink, his fingers aren’t worrying at loose threads or drumming on the pages of the book he’s reading. He just sits like a moment captured in time; a statue or a painting. 

Arthur puts his book down on the table and leans in to wave a hand in front of Merlin’s face. Normally, if Merlin was daydreaming or lost in thought, such an action would snap him out of it and be followed by him lecturing Arthur about letting people go about their business. This time, however, it elicits no reaction. It’s a bit like Merlin has simply walked away and left his body standing there in his place.

Goosebumps break out over Arthur’s skin, the worst coming to mind. They’ve been at this for weeks, perhaps they’re too late and Merlin is starting to slip from them already. It can’t end like this, it can’t.

“Merlin.” Arthur says sharply, in the entitled tone he uses whenever he wants to get a rise out of Merlin. It draws Gaius’s attention, and he too looks up from his book and eyes Merlin with worry.

“Merlin? My boy?” Gaius asks, similarly unsuccessful.

Arthur reaches out and tries to grab Merlin’s shoulder to shake him, but his hand falls right through like it has ever time before. He calls out Merlin’s name in the angriest ‘I thought you were at the tavern for the last three days’ voice he has. No response.

“Right.” Arthur says stiffly and straightens up. He tugs his tunic into place, walks over to the end of the bench nearest Merlin, crouches down, and shoves it as hard as he can.

Merlin startles with a little shout, and reaches out to smack Arthur’s hand away from the bench. Arthur sighs in relief.

“What was that for?” Merlin asks, frowning.

“Where the hell were you? One moment you were teasing me about how I read, the next you’re frozen in place.”

Merlin gets a faraway look in his eye, but thankfully he doesn’t freeze again. “I think I was in my body, for just a few moments.” He says eventually.

Arthur’s eyes widen and he leans in close, “What do you mean you were in your body?”

“I was reading,” Merlin explains like he’s trying to recall a dream, “but I kept hearing this noise. So I tried to listen for it, and suddenly I wasn’t quite in Camelot.”

“And you think you were briefly rejoined with your body?” Gaius asks, leaning forward as well.

Merlin nods, still gazing into the middle distance, “I think I’m at the coast somewhere. I can hear the seabirds.” 

“Gaius, do you have any maps?” Arthur asks.

Gaius shakes his head apologetically, “I’m afraid that’s only Geoffrey, and after you told him you were looking into ghosts I don’t think he’ll be much inclined to lend you one.”

“Besides,” Merlin says suddenly fully present once more, “we have no way of narrowing what strip of coast I’m on. You can’t traipse up and down through enemy territory hoping to find me.”

“We could narrow it down by birdcall.” Arthur insists.

“Somehow, I don’t think that will help much. All seabirds sound alike to me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to learn to track?” Arthur shouts.

“Don’t shout at me! It isn’t like I like being disembodied!”

“Well you’re not helping yourself be returned to your body!”

“That is enough from both of you.” Gaius says sternly, “I know we’re all worried about what will happen to Merlin, but fighting is doing us no good. Seabirds travel further distances than others, so even if Merlin could identify the call, it wouldn’t narrow it much more than before. At most we would be able to pick between three kingdoms, and Merlin is correct in saying that you can’t go through enemy territory on an off chance. You are no good to him if you are wounded or killed.”

Arthur says nothing because he knows Gaius is right, even if he doesn’t like it. Merlin scratches at his cheek in the way he does when he’s feeling sheepish, and Arthur has a feeling that he feels as chastised as Arthur himself. This whole situation has been exhausting, and more than anything, Arthur wants Merlin to be well again. He may have forgiven Merlin for the magic and lies, but they haven’t had a proper fight about it yet. He’s had to keep his words behind tight locked lips because he doesn’t want his last conversation with Merlin to be a quarrel. 

“What does this mean, Gaius?”

“It means that Merlin has a stronger connection to his body than we expected. I believe that gives us more time before the curse gets harder to break. We can begin researching the kingdoms of the coast tomorrow, and perhaps we will find something then that can give us a hint to the sorcerer that cursed Merlin. For now, I think it wise if we all took a break.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks anxiously.

“Another day won’t make a difference.” Merlin promises and stands up, “Come on. You have to get changed to dine with your father and Morgana.”

Arthur’s solace is that Merlin still volunteers to pull faces at the king the whole evening. If Merlin is in the mood to joke, all is not lost.


	7. Chapter 7

The doors to Gaius’s chambers swing open, startling everyone sitting at the table reading over the books. They are no closer to finding the answers one week post argument than they were the day of the argument itself. Though Merlin won’t admit to it, Arthur can tell that he’s getting anxious. His smiles have come less and less frequently, there’s a perpetual wrinkle between his brows.

Arthur can recognize the signs now. Before he knew about Merlin’s magic, it was always guess work to try to figure out why Merlin would suddenly go distant and troubled. Now, Arthur knows. Merlin is struggling with a magical problem beyond the scope of his own abilities. It leaves Arthur with the uneasy feeling of uncertainty. How many times has Merlin struggled without him knowing? How many times has Merlin thrown himself into danger to keep Arthur safe with only a faint glimmer of hope that Arthur would one day recognize his loyalty? How many times has Merlin ended up in hopeless positions, not because he one day hoped to gain advantage via Arthur’s status as king, but because he considered Arthur a friend and wanted to make sure he had the opportunity to become the best version of himself? Arthur doesn’t know what to do with loyalty like that, and he isn’t entirely sure that he deserves it, no matter what Merlin says otherwise.

Leon steps into the room, hand on his sword, and Arthur’s heart skips a beat. For a moment, he thinks his father found out. He has the adrenaline surge that comes from facing an enemy combatant, and the bone chilling feat of what would happen to Gaius and Merlin if he can’t protect them. Then Leon nods stiffly, and inclines his head down the corridor.

“Your presence has been requested by the king, Sire.” Leon informs him, and Arthur’s shoulders relax minutely. His father tends to prefer kicking down doors and dragging people out of their homes to face punishment for their crimes. If Leon was here to arrest Gaius, he would have relayed the order to Arthur to stand aside and let it happen. Strange how his loyalty split the moment Merlin walked into his life. The first time he ever disobeyed a direct order was to keep Merlin safe.

Arthur stands, dusting down his jacket as he does, “What is this in regards to?”

“There’s been an arrest,” Leon explains, “she stands accused of sorcery.”

Arthur’s heart sinks, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Merlin’s head snaps up, eyes flashing. That’s another thing that haunts Arthur after Merlin leaves him for the night. How many times has Merlin been asked to stand aside to watch his own kind killed in cold blood? Arthur has never been as blood thirsty as his father, but it’s difficult to see even an iota of logic in his actions now. Merlin is dangerous, there’s no denying that, not after all the stories he told Arthur, but his danger is utilized to keep angry people from seeking revenge in innocents. If there is anything that is going to send Merlin down the path of becoming a poltergeist, it is going to be the anger at the mistreatment of his people. Arthur is concerned not only for the accused, but Merlin too.

“Right,” Arthur says stiffly, trying his best to play along, act as though his entire worldview hasn’t shifted, “Gaius, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.”

“Medicine can wait for another time.” Gaius promises with a polite nod.

Next to him, Merlin drifts to his feet. He falls in step next to Arthur like he always has, but for once Arthur can read his emotions about the situation like an open book. His eyes flash with anger, despair, hopelessness. Arthur reaches out to squeeze his arm, a reflex born out of the time that Merlin became unreachable and Arthur was worried that his only friend would slip into the arms of a foe Arthur couldn’t fight, and only just catches himself before he becomes too noticeable. Leon may be leading the charge, but that gesture wouldn’t go unnoticed, not with Leon’s keen eyes. So Arthur sends Merlin a look instead, willing him to understand that he doesn’t have to deal with this alone. Merlin either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t react.

The corridors are empty, and the sound of their footsteps echo off the walls. Strangely, Arthur feels like he’s being marched to his own execution. He will come out of this alive, but he has no control of the situation, no choice in how it plays out. Whatever happens in the throne room will fundamentally alter his perception of both his father, and the world. It’s a blessing and a curse. His people deserve a crown prince with open eyes, and justice in his heart, but there’s a small part of him that wishes it could go back to the way it was before. Back when things were so much simpler. Failing that, he wishes he had more time to process this. It’s only been about three weeks since he found out about Merlin. He wants more time before he has to confront the injustice perpetrated by the man he most wanted to be growing up. 

There isn’t time, however. They arrive at the throne room only a couple of minutes later. When they enter, his father is standing beneath the dais, crown glinting in the sun streaming in through the high windows. It highlights the silver at his temples, and throws his face in shadow. Before, Arthur always admired the way it helped his father exude power. Now, it is still an impressive sight, and one that will be useful to imitate on those who deserve it, but he has a hard time believing the accused deserves to have fear struck into their very heart.

He passes by the young woman kneeling before the dais. She has a smear of dirt on her cheek, and visible tear tracks coursing down her cheeks though her eyes are now dry. Her hair has come loose from the bun she kept it in, and it hangs around her cheeks, framing her terrified face like curtains. Her hands are clenched into fists in the fabric of her apron, and Arthur spots a tear in it. Maybe she tried to run and it snagged on something, preventing her escape. He wishes she had gotten away.

He joins his father, standing to shoulder with him. His eyes flicker sideways instinctively, expecting to catch Merlin in his peripheral like always. He didn’t realize how much he came to rely on Merlin’s support until Merlin became disembodied. For the first time since Arthur met Merlin, Merlin is not at his side. Arthur glances around wildly, terrified that Merlin slipped away due to the curse before Arthur got a chance to say goodbye. Instead, he finds Merlin standing next to the young woman. 

His hands are balled into fists at his side. His eyes are hard and flinty, trained relentlessly on the king. This is Merlin angry, Arthur realizes. He’s seen most emotions from Merlin, sadness, exasperation, frustration, worry, and even a little anger. He’s never seen this, Merlin filled to the tips of his fingers and toes with rage. All of it is directed at the king. The rage is personal, and chilling. His father is very lucky that Merlin has more love in his heart than anger. If he cared for Arthur any less than he does, the king might very well be dead.

“You stand accused of sorcery.” The king says coldly, “What have you to say for yourself?”

The young woman takes in a shuddering breath, clearly trying to stay calm despite the tears sparkling afresh in her eyes, “Please, I haven’t hurt anybody.” 

“You are aware, as are all the people of Camelot, that sorcery is illegal in Camelot?” 

“I just was trying to save her!” the young woman says, growing desperate, “Please, my sister was ill with whooping cough. I only wanted to make sure she wouldn’t die from it.”

“Exceptions cannot be made. Sorcery is a danger. It brings nothing but evil, and you have dabbled in it freely and willingly.”

“You hypocrite.” Merlin hisses, voice low and dangerous, startling Arthur. 

“Father, might I make a suggestion?” Arthur asks, desperate both to spare this young woman, and head off Merlin’s anger before something happens.

His father turns his head, eyes flashing at the interruption, “You may.”

Arthur does not swallow nervously, despite how dry his mouth suddenly feels, “It is her first offence, and she only had pure intentions when she acted. Perhaps, given the desperate circumstances, we can find some mercy for her.”

“Are you suggesting I let her go unpunished for breaking one of the most important laws of the land?”

“No.” Arthur says quickly, “Sorcery should not be tolerated, but we all do stupid things when we’re desperate. I don’t think she should lose her life for this, a banishment might be more suitable.”

“You care for the people is credible, but banishment is too light an alternative. The laws against sorcery protect us all, and so she must be punished for endangering us all.”

“You bigot!” Merlin shouts, striding forward to shout in the king’s face despite the fact the king can’t hear him, “You are the reason sorcery has been nothing but a danger to you! You have wronged so many people in so any ways, and you blame them for trying to eliminate the source of danger! Your ego is big enough to fill the lower town! You are not fit to be king, nor fit to be a father!”

“You are sentenced to death.” The king says solemnly.

Merlin’s eyes flare gold, and a crack of thunder echoes in the distance. It’s the first time Arthur has seen Merlin work magic, and it is beautiful in the same way it is terrifying. Merlin carries this power in his fingertips, but does not use it unless he intends to protect the people around him.

“Even while you are king, there is magic at the heart of Camelot. Arthur will be a better and more worthy king than you ever were.” Merlin says darkly.

Storm clouds rush in, blocking the light. It reduces the king somehow, makes him appear smaller, greyer. His eyes are wide with fear as he screams at the guards to drag the young woman away, blames her for the storm. The young woman looks up, and for a moment her eyes go wide as well. She is looking right in Merlin’s direction, and Arthur doesn’t know if she caught sight of him because of her own magical abilities, or because Merlin has suddenly found a way to draw on his own even though he is just a spirit. Arthur prays for the former. He doesn’t know what he would do if his father discovered the truth behind Arthur’s strange behavior. 

“Stop.” Arthur says softly, so only Merlin can hear it. 

Merlin glances at him, eyes softening and losing the golden light. The thunder stops rumbling, but the storm clouds don’t dissipate. His eyes glint with tears, though none have fallen. Arthur doesn’t know how to make it better. Given this display, there is no way he can get the young woman out of the cells undetected. The only reason she wasn’t just run through then and there is because someone once told his father that burning was most effective. Arthur feels sick to his stomach at the dawning realization in Merlin’s gaze, the disappointment that Arthur can’t do anything about this.

He vanishes in the blink of an eye.

Despite Arthur’s arguing, the young woman is scheduled to be executed the next day. No amount of cajoling, pleading, or drawing on logic is enough to sway his father when a decision has been made. All Arthur accomplishes is tripling the guard on her cell. He has to give up the ghost before his father makes good on his threat to lock him in his room. He owes it to this young woman to look her in the eye when her life is taken from her because of a cruel and unjust law.

Under the cover of darkness, he slips down to the cells. He has a few moment between the changing of the guard with which to find her, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t give her false hope, nor should he risk exposing his true sentiments to his father. Still, it feels dishonorable to stay away, to leave her to burn without her knowing someone tried to fight for her.

She is sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, eyes vacant when he finds her. She glances over when he clears his throat, then jumps to her feet and rushes to the cell door, clutching at the bars just above the cross beam. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Arthur says softly.

The young woman shakes her head, biting her lip, “I was prepared to die when I cast the spell, but it’s different, staring death in the face isn’t it?”

“It is.” Arthur agrees, “I have no way of getting you out.”

“I know.” The young woman says, but her eyes gleam with hope for a moment, “But I won’t be harmed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your guardian.” The young woman says with a smile.

Arthur stares at her blankly. He’s never had a guardian.

“The spirit who walks in your shadow, the one who brought the storm in his anger.” The young woman insists, “I only saw him a moment, but I know he’s real. He won’t let me hurt.”

Damn it, Merlin.

“I don’t know how much good he can do.” Arthur warns her, “He isn’t even meant to be a spirit.”

“All will be well, Prince Arthur. Thank you for fighting for my safety. You must go before the guards come back.”

He leaves reluctantly, heart heavy. He’s never thought of Merlin as his guardian, but he supposes it’s an accurate description in the end. He just wishes that the two of them could protect more than each other.

He does not sleep that night. He gazes out his window at the courtyard below, watching his father’s men as they work. This far away, they remind him of ants. The scurry back and forth on efficient, but invisible paths, torches held aloft. Slowly, the pyre grows, takes shape. The world outside begins to lighten from the deep blue of night, to early morning grey.

“You could have stopped this.”

Arthur startles, heart missing a beat, “Don’t do that!” he snaps at Merlin.

Merlin stands a few paces behind him, also gazing out the window at the pyre below, “Why didn’t you break her out?”

“I couldn’t. The guards were on high alert through the night. I may have gotten her free of her cell, but we wouldn’t have made it further than that, and my beliefs would have been exposed to my father. Do you think I can help more people if I’m always under suspicion?”

“She doesn’t deserve to die, and you’re the only in a position to call it off.”

“My father won’t listen. You know that.” Arthur says, trying to fight down his own frustration, “Just because you can act without being caught for now, doesn’t mean everyone else can.”

“I can’t let her burn.” Merlin says, but his voice cracks a little. His eyes are filled with tears again, and Arthur hates that sight down to his very bones. He never wants Merlin to look like this. “I can’t.”

“Merlin, if you try to stop it, it will only prolong it and make it worse.”

“If you can’t stop the execution, then at least make it the headman! Something quick! Anything but burning!”

“I can’t. Not without committing treason and losing my own life in the process.”

Merlin swipes the heels of his hands against his eyes wiping away the tears, “I have to do something. You always tell me I’m a coward, but I’m not the one sitting and letting cruelty happen because I’m too scared.”

*

Storm clouds hang heavy in the sky, dark enough to make the world settle into that strange near-twilight of a brewing storm. The courtyard below is eerily quiet except for the drum of the executioner marching the young woman to the pyre. His father watches with grim satisfaction, and for a moment, Arthur is so filled with rage, like he was when Morgause told him what he now recognizes as the truth of his birth, he genuinely considers shoving his father over the balcony to the stones below. The thought leaves him almost as quickly as it appeared, but it leaves him shaking. Merlin was right to stop him that day, keeping him from killing his father. It would only leave Arthur with more pain.

He can’t see Merlin anywhere. 

The young woman is tied to the pyre, pale and terrified. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and her lips move in a soundless rhythm. He thinks she might be praying. She may in fact be praying to Merlin. Merlin, Guardian of Camelot. It fits better than Arthur thought it would.

His father’s speech some to a stop a few moments later, and he raises his hand high. He brings it down with finality, and the executioners drop their torches into the kindling. The fire roars to life.

There’s a crack of thunder, and suddenly Merlin appears before the pyre. No one seems to notice him standing there, and Arthur is relieved to have the answer he was looking for. The young woman could see Merlin because of her magic, not because Merlin is growing visible. Then Merlin steps forward into the pyre, and Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. The flames lick up his legs, twine around his arms, and Arthur is sure that Merlin will burn. Then the rain comes. It pours down, dousing the flames and soaking those gathered through to the skin. The young woman turns her head in Merlin’s direction, smiling once more, smiling like her prayers have been answered.

The guards swarm her, and Arthur loses sight of what’s happening for a moment. When the guards disperse, the young woman is sagging in her bonds. Blood stains her apron. She wasn’t burned, and Arthur finds himself grateful for small mercies. Being run through hurts, but it is nothing compared to burning. 

Merlin looks up at him from down below. Arthur would blame the tears on the rain, except that Merlin is bone dry. He is weeping for a woman he doesn’t know, and it’s only because of years of schooling his own emotions that Arthur isn’t doing the same. Merlin vanishes.

The rain lasts for days. It never lets up. It is a torrential downpour morning, noon, and night, expressing Merlin’s displeasure at what happened. Arthur wants to reprimand him, tell him not to risk himself by casting such spells, but he can’t. Part of it is because he can’t blame Merlin. He has spent his entire life in fear, spent the last several years watching his people murdered. It’s no wonder that the combination of invisibility and pain would create the perfect opportunity to lash out. The other reason he can’t reprimand Merlin is that Merlin hasn’t been around to reprimand. There has been no sign of him since that moment in the courtyard.

Arthur slips into his chambers, soaked to his skin after training. He is shivering by the time he closes the door behind him. To his surprise, there is a fire already going. Merlin stands before it, as whole as he was a week ago, looking not apologetic exactly, but certainly diminished. Arthur pauses where he is, dripping onto the floor.

“I missed having someone see me.” Merlin says softly, not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur recognizes the olive branch for what it is, and crosses to stand in front of the fire. His hand slips right through Merlin, as expected, but he still tries squeezing his arm anyway. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

“I know.” Merlin says and rests his hand over Arthur’s, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her, too.”

“You have to promise me, Merlin, never to end up on a pyre again.”

“You have more control over that than I do.” Merlin points out, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

Arthur resists the urge to give into a rueful chuckle like he normally would, and leans in, meeting Merlin’s eyes with a serious gaze, “I don’t think you understand. You are my friend Merlin, my only friend, and I thought I lost you. All those jokes about me wanting to get rid of you, I never really meant them because I know you might be the only person I can always trust. When I thought you died, it felt like my world came crashing down. I realized I would have to continue living in a world that didn’t have you in it, and when you stepped into those flames, I felt that all over again.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I care. One day,” Arthur promises, “when I am king, you won’t have to hide. Magic will be treated like any other ability, and you will have a place at my side.”

Merlin’s eyes are very blue, and very serious, when he says, “You will be the greatest king Albion has ever known.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m afraid we’ve read through every book I have, Sire.” Gaius says apologetically. These last few months have not been kind to him. His wrinkles are more pronounced, his eyes droop from exhaustion, and his fingers tremble slightly when he turns the pages of the books.

Arthur is sure he doesn’t look much better. His hair is greasy from the number of times he’s run is hand through it in his frustration. The bags underneath his eyes have grown, and it’s reached a point where even Leon is quietly asking after Arthur’s health. Objectively, he knows he can’t keep spending his days training to exhaustion then stay up to all hours of the night reading through dense, technically illegal, tomes. Sooner or later he is going to crash and burn, but he can’t stop. The images of Merlin vanishing in brilliant light, and stepping into the flames of the pyre chase each other round and round in his head, and it’s reached a point that not even being able to glance over at Merlin and see the proof of his existence is enough to stop his stomach from clenching.

“There has to be something else.” Arthur says desperately, “Please, Gaius. Surely there are book sellers or sages or even a hermit hidden in the mountains somewhere that can get us what we need.”

“Arthur—” Merlin starts.

Arthur’s eyes snap to Merlin, “Don’t you dare try to say something encouraging about your own death.”

“I’m not dead!” Merlin says indignantly, and few book pages flutter as a breeze blows through Gaius’s chambers. 

Ever since the display in the courtyard, Merlin has been, for lack of a better term, bleeding magic. Gaius swears up and down that it is nothing to worry about, just a side effect of Merlin being cut off from it for so long, but Arthur can’t help thinking that this means Merlin’s disembodied state is getting more permanent by the day.

“Not yet.” Arthur responds darkly.

Gaius sighs, leaning his elbows on the surface of his workbench, “I wish I knew, Sire, but I let go of any contacts I had before the purge. Even if I still knew where to find them, they would not be inclined to help us. Most think I betrayed them.”

“There may be one resource we haven’t used.” Merlin says with a grimace.

Arthur’s scowl deepens, “And you waited for months before bringing it up?”

“It’s just…” Merlin says, awkwardly scratching his jaw in the nervous tick of his, “the advice always comes with a price.”

“I am the Crown Prince of Camelot. I can afford any amount of gold that is required.”

“You see, it isn’t a price of gold. It’s a promise, and he tends to get tetchy when you aren’t able to follow through on said promise.”

“For the love of god, stop obfuscating and just tell me what you’re talking about.” Arthur snaps.

Merlin turns his head, and Arthur gets the impression he was intending to make a face at Gaius before remembering that Arthur is the only one he can effectively haunt. Merlin’s face falls. Arthur has only seen this a handful of times, the look of resigned sadness on Merlin’s face. Only Arthur doesn’t know how to distract Merlin or cheer him up. Before he would ply him with chores, or schedule a convenient hunting trip. Anything to get Merlin to redirect his bad mood. Now, he’s in the thick of the problem, and he can’t think of a way out of it either. It must be so much more difficult for Merlin, bodiless and desperate, missing the people he loves.

“I think it might be easier if I show you.”

“What is he suggesting?” Gaius asks with suspicious frown.

“He wants to show me another resource for breaking this curse.”

Gaius shakes his head slightly, clearly disapproving, “I have a feeling you aren’t going to like what you find, be prepared for that.”

“If it will break the curse, I will learn to like whatever it is we have to do.”

Arthur pushes away from the workbench, and finds merlin already hovering by the door. It’s been months, and Arthur still isn’t used to the sudden grace Merlin possesses now that he doesn’t have a body. He didn’t think he could miss his things getting dropped or knocked into, but much like everything else to do with Merlin, it’s all part of his charm. A graceful Merlin just adds to the feeling of wrongness to this whole surreal situation. 

Arthur opens the door to Gaius’s chambers, and steps into the corridor beyond. There are no guards about, so Arthur risks turning his head to ask Merlin, “Where are we going?”

“Well… uh…” Merlin says hesitantly, drawing the corners of his mouth back in a reluctant grimace, “the dungeons.”

“The dungeons.” Arthur repeats flatly.

Merlin nods, vaguely reminiscent of a puppet on a string, “Or, it’s more accurate to say that we have to go through the dungeons to get where we’re going.”

“Gaius was right, I’m not going to like this.”

“Probably not.”

The walk from Gaius’s chambers is shorter than Arthur was expecting, thanks in part to a few clever shortcuts that Merlin takes. Arthur chooses to ignore the implication that if Merlin know shortcuts through the castle that even Arthur doesn’t know after living here his entire life, Merlin has been visiting the dungeons far more than he should. Whatever or whoever it is that they’re visiting better have the answers, or Arthur is going to find a way to put Merlin back in his body just to strangle him for being stupid enough to visit an off limits part of the castle.

The guards all stand to attention when Arthur appears at the top of the stairs, and Merlin muffles a cough in his arm so that he can laugh at Arthur and get away with it. At least Arthur has gotten used to this after several months of having a spectral moron hovering over his shoulder, and he doesn’t react outwardly. He just slides one of his hands from his hip, and shoots Merlin a rude gesture behind his back. He descends the stairs with a friendly enough smile on his face.

“Prince Arthur, is there anything we can do for you?” the senior guard asks, sounding vaguely terrified.

Arthur shakes his head, “No, that is quite alright. I found myself with a free evening, and thought I would come to poke around. See if there was any explanation beyond magic as to why the prisoners were able to escape.”

“I assure you, Sire, that we take inspection of the cells very seriously.”

“I’m sure you do, but it’s always best to have a fresh set of eyes on a problem.”

“Of course, Sire.”

Merlin is openly laughing by the time they leave the guards behind them, “Did you see his face? I thought he was going to faint!”

“I’m glad you think this is so funny, Merlin.”

“Pick up the torch.” Merlin instructs between fits of laughter, “There hasn’t been a great deal to laugh about these last few months. Let me have this.”

When he puts it that way, Arthur can’t begrudge him his humor. He lifts the lit torch off the wall, and jogs down a set of dusty steps, falling in step behind Merlin. When they reach the bottom, the smooth stone walls give way to something else. Crags of rock just out of the walls instead, the ground gives way to uneven rock as well, with a path worn smooth by people walking on it. He wonders if Merlin comes down here enough to have worn that path on his own, or if it was made that way through magic. The air changes too. Arthur thought that being this deep below the castle, the air would be frigid, but it’s pleasantly warm, and getting warmer.

Merlin sends one last apologetic look over his shoulder, then leads Arthur out onto an outcropping of rock. It reminds him a bit of the cave he found himself in when he tracked down the flower for Merlin. There is a distinct lack of murdering sorceresses this time, though, so it’s an improvement. 

“Hello!” Merlin calls out, but his voice is swallowed before it gets a chance to echo throughout the cavern. “I don’t think he can hear me like this, you’ll have to call.”

Arthur shifts his grip on the torch, and shuffles a little closer to the edge of the outcropping, still very aware of tumbling to his death on the sharp rocks on the ground below, “Hello! We need your help!”

There is a great whooshing of air, followed by the sound of a massive chain rattling. A few rocks shifts loose from the wall and clack against the rock wall as they fall. Arthur’s vision is temporarily filled with dark gold, and then there is a massive dragon perched on the outcropping of rock in the center of the room.

“My, my,” the dragon says in his smooth, cultured voice, “I didn’t think I would see the day that the Young Pendragon would visit me.”

“You’re a dragon.” Arthur states stupidly, and the dragon makes a sound that Arthur slowly recognizes as laughter. Arthur whips his head around to look at Merlin, “You’ve been talking to a dragon!”

“To be fair, he spoke to me first, and wouldn’t leave me alone.” Merlin says defensively.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic—”

“Who are you speaking to, Young Pendragon?” The dragon asks curiously.

Arthur turns back, feeling foolish for turning his back on a creature that would eat him the way one might eat a grape, “Merlin. He got himself disembodied, and we can’t find a way to put him back. He hopes you have the answer.”

The dragon makes that rumbling wheezing sound again, and Merlin folds his arms across his chest with an impatient look as though being laughed at by a dragon is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is for Merlin. Arthur wouldn’t know.

“This is why I could not feel the Young Warlock’s presence in Camelot. I thought he was hiding after our last confrontation.”

“Confrontation?”

“Some time ago Merlin asked me for help, and he made certain promises that he since failed to fulfill. I assumed he did not wish to speak to me lest he be forced to see his promise through.”

“Of course he has.” Arthur says tiredly, “He’s useless.” 

“I would not be so quick to dismiss his role in your life, Young Pendragon. He is the other side of your coin, and the key to your destiny.”

“We did not come here for talk of destiny. We came to restore Merlin to his body.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Cannot, or will not?” Arthur asks angrily.

“Told you he was hard to work with.” Merlin mutters beside him, “Still, it’s been nice not to have him in my head.”

“When Merlin fulfills his promise, then I will help you. Until that time, you must try to solve this on your own.” The dragon explains calmly, and rocks back on his heels, preparing for flight.

“Wait!” Arthur shouts, “What did he promise you?”

“Arthur, no!” Merlin shouts, “Don’t!”

“He promised to free me.” The dragon answers, settling once more on the rock, “I have rotted under this castle for a long time, I wish to be free once more.”

“You have my word that I will see you freed if you help us.” 

Merlin makes an outraged cry behind him, but Arthur ignores him. The two of them can deal with the consequences when they arise, right now it is more important that they see Merlin safely back in his body.

“I will hold you to your word, Young Pendragon. My destiny does not end here in this cave, and you will not like the result if you try to cross me.”

“No crossing. Please, just tell me how to save Merlin.”

“What was the wording of the spell?”

“Something about true love’s kiss no longer being magic.” Arthur answers.

The dragon nods his head wisely, “It is not a difficult spell to break, then. You must find where Merlin’s body is being kept, and kiss him.”

Arthur feels his eyebrows shoot into his hairline, “Kiss him?”

“I suppose it could be someone else, but I do not think it likely. Like most curses of this nature, the instructions for breaking it are in the curse itself. True Love’s Kiss will break this spell, Merlin’s true love must kiss him.”

“That’s it?”

“Indeed.” 

“There’s probably something he’s not telling us, something always gets left out in his cryptic nonsense.” Merlin grumbles, “Come on. Let’s go.”

“You just said there was something he isn’t telling us.” 

“Questioning him won’t give you answers, only a headache.”

The dragon laughs once more, “I would listen to him.”

“I thought you couldn’t hear what he was saying.” 

“I can’t, but I have worked with Merlin enough to know he is probably complaining about me once more.”

Feeling distinctly off balance, Arthur turns on his heel and strides for the exit. Behind him he can hear the whoosh of air indicating that the dragon has flown to another roost somewhere in the cavern. He and Merlin walk side by side in tense silence. Arthur has no idea what the dragon meant by the key to his destiny, but he can’t focus on that now. He has to find someone willing to give their life for Merlin’s. Maybe it would be easiest if it was him, he and Merlin have given their lives for each other dozens of times, and Arthur is willing to do it again. 

“What did the dragon mean when he spoke of destiny?” Arthur asks as they emerge into the cool air of the dungeons.

Merlin sighs, “I didn’t want to tell you, I would have chosen to be by your side whether or not destiny asked me to be there. For all your faults, I still consider you a friend.”

“Merlin.”

“You are meant to unite the lands of Albion, and bring magic back to the world. I am meant to play a role in that. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, so far it just seems like I’m keeping you from getting murdered on an almost monthly basis.”

“So all those times you said I would be the greatest king this world has ever known?”

“I meant it. You are a better man than your father, Arthur, and the more you step out from under his shadow, the more I believe you are the man destiny promised.”

Arthur falls silent, trying to digest all this information. He is caught between betrayal and relief. He hates being the last to know of anything, especially of plans that involve him, but he is glad Merlin had the foresight to hide it. How could he have ever been sure of Merlin’s friendship if he knew it was because destiny brought them together? In a strange way, Merlin’s reluctance to tell him proves his friendship runs deeper. He cares not about Arthur the future king, but Arthur the man, and cared enough to try to protect him from something that could make him doubt Merlin’s feelings.

After a quick discussion with the guards, they return to Arthur’s chambers. Neither of them say a word for a long while. Both of them are far too caught up in their thoughts. 

Arthur is just considering how to start the hunt for Merlin’s body when Merlin looks up from the socks he is massacring in an attempt to fold them neatly and says, “I don’t want you to find me.”

It takes Arthur a moment to process because the words are so outlandish, “What?”

“I don’t want you to find me.” Merlin repeats seriously, and at least has the presence of mind to let go of the socks so he remains visible.

“Merlin, I am not letting you waste away because you saved my life.”

“If we could do it from here, I’d want my body back.” Merlin insists, crossing the room to stand in front of Arthur’s chair, “But we can’t, and I think it’s a trap. There’s someone here with me. I can hear footsteps on stone, and I think ever since I used my magic they’ve realized I’m conscious. They knew how close we are, and they will use me to get to you. I can’t let that happen.”

“Why?” Arthur snarls, “Because I’m destined to be a great king?”

“I knew if you found out you would get an even bigger head.” Merlin teases with an affectionate smile, taking Arthur’s outburst in stride, “It’s also because you’re my friend. You told me, after the pyre, that losing me felt like your world was crashing down. I’ve lived through that too, Arthur. Those few days with Nimueh and the Questing Beast, I thought I had lost you. I can’t let you get hurt trying to protect me, not again.”

Merlin’s hand reaches out and comes to rest on Arthur’s cheek. Arthur’s first instinct is to bat it away and claim that he isn’t a girl, but he doesn’t want to. He’s gotten used to Merlin’s fingers brushing his skin, used to the supportive pats on his shoulders under the guise of smoothing clothes, and now that Merlin is here supporting him again, he doesn’t want it to stop. He leans into Merlin’s hand, feeling weary and defeated.

“Why did the dragon assume I would be the one to kiss you?” he asks softly.

“You know why.”

Merlin smiles, but not one of the smile Arthur has seen before. It’s softer, more hesitant, shy and hopeful. He leans in and tentatively brushes his lips against Arthur’s. Arthur kisses back as best he can, but it’s a bit like pressing his lips to water. Even so, it feels overwhelmingly right. The itching in his chest, the sensation that plagues him near constantly when in Merlin’s presence, finally, finally eases.

Merlin pulls back a moment later, grinning nervously.

“Kissing a ghost is strange.” Arthur says breathlessly.

Merlin rolls his eyes, and drops his hand, but he doesn’t step away when he says, “You’re such an ass.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Arthur says with a grin.

Merlin grins back, losing some of the tension from his shoulders. He moves his hand, as if reaching out to touch Arthur’s face once more, and his eyes flash a brilliant gold. His hand drops, and a looks of panic contorts his face.

“He’s coming!”

“What? Merlin, who’s coming?” Arthur asks, watching in horror as Merlin begins to fade and go transparent like he does if he’s in direct sunlight, “Merlin!”

The shutters to his window crash against the stone walls outside as wind rips through the courtyard. It howls long, and loud, sending chills down Arthur’s back. It sounds like a scream.

He reaches out, trying to grip any part of Merlin, even his jacket. His hand falls straight through. He tries calling Merlin’s name again to no avail. With one last scream of wind, Merlin slips through his fingers and is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The doors to his chambers burst open, admitting Morgana and Guinevere. Morgana is paler than usual, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders in frizzy unkempt waves. Whatever woke her must have been urgent enough that she didn’t have time to brush her hair into its usual perfect sheen. She has a fur warp settled on her shoulders to ward off the chill, but parts of it are twisted as if she grabbed it in a hurry. Guinevere is next to her, her eyes are wide with worry, and her eyebrows are drawn together so hard that a little wrinkle appears in her forehead. She must not have gone to bed quite yet.

“Are you alright?” Morgana asks breathlessly.

Arthur stares at her blankly, trying to find the words to explain what just happened. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he has lost Merlin all over again, and this time it seems permanent. He can’t begin to fathom the idea that someone out there, some lowlife, is hurting Merlin. How can he explain that Merlin has been ripped from his body and is being hurt, all because Arthur wasn’t quick enough on his feet? He can’t. He can’t explain that the kiss, while strange, is perhaps the most complete he has ever felt, and he might not get a chance to do it again, might not get a chance to tell Merlin how much Arthur cares for him.

“Arthur?” Guinevere asks tentatively, edging her way into the room, “What’s happened? We heard you screaming for Merlin.”

Arthur takes a shuddering breath, and forces his blinding panic and guilt away, “Merlin is gone.”

Morgana frowns, and comes to sit next to Arthur on his bed. It’s been a long time since they got on well enough for her to try to comfort him or vice versa, and it feels almost foreign for her to take his hand in hers and squeeze it comfortingly like she used to do when he was small and he would wake up in choking panic, worried about letting everyone down.

“I know. You two were always very close.” Morgana says gently.

Guinevere closes the door behind her, and settles in Arthur’s desk chair across from his bed, “We all miss him too. He was one of my dearest friends.”

“It’s my fault.” Arthur says, swallowing back any tears that threaten to spill, “It’s my fault he got hurt, that this happened to him.”

Morgana scoffs and shakes her head, “No. I know you and I struggle to see eye to eye, especially when it comes to Uther, but I have never had any doubt when it comes to you protecting Merlin. You would do anything for him, and have. He didn’t die because of you.”

Arthur drops his head, “He isn’t dead.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Guinevere says gently, and it makes his shoulders stiffen. If he doesn’t explain quickly, Morgana and Guinevere are going to think he’s gone mad with grief. He hasn’t yet.

“No. Not like that.” Arthur says, not meeting their eyes, “It wasn’t a death spell. It was a curse, intended to make me sleep until true love could wake me, but Merlin jumped in front. Something went wrong because it wasn’t intended for him. It separated his soul from his body, and he turned into a ghost. We’ve been looking for a way to break the curse.”

“Arthur,” Morgana says in a gentle voice Arthur remembers she used with the druid boy, “I know it was difficult to lose him…”

“I’m not mad.” Arthur says sharply, meeting Morgana’s eyes.

“Is there anyone who can corroborate your story?” she asks, arching one eyebrow, obviously not pleased about being snapped at.

“Gaius. I’ve spent most of my days holed up there with him. He can’t see Merlin, but he can see the way Merlin’s soul or spirit or whatever it is interacts with the world. Turning pages, knocking things to the floor.”

Guinevere twists her fingers anxiously in her apron, “What changed? You said Merlin is gone, but if he wasn’t before then something must have happened.”

“Whoever is watching over his body came for him.”

Beside him on the bed, Morgana stiffens and clutches his hand a little tighter, “What do you mean, came for him?”

“We were talking, then he froze, said someone was coming, and then vanished.”

“The wind.” Guinevere says, eyes wide with realization.

Arthur nods.

The room falls silent at that revelation. This is why he didn’t tell them, didn’t get their hopes up. They have spent the last three months in blissful ignorance, assuming Merlin is long gone, never to be seen again. They already knew he was gone, so there is no need to mourn again. Arthur has lived with hope. This whole time, he has been certain that he was going to see Merlin at the end of this. How many more times must he mourn before it is the last time?

“He could still come back.” Guinevere says at last.

Arthur looks at her, and tries to smile a gentle, comforting smile, “I don’t think he will. We lost our chance.”

“He’ll come back.” Morgana says firmly, “Nothing short of death would keep Merlin from your side.”

“They could have killed him.”

“If the person knew where his body was the whole time, then they would have done something to him already. Don’t give up hope just yet.” Guinevere says, warm and reassuring as always.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” He says, dropping his gaze to his knees once more.

“Don’t be so obnoxious. You should have brought us in from the beginning.” Morgana says, but her hand remains a comforting presence in Arthur’s, “We’re staying now.”

“Morgana…” Arthur sighs.

“No arguments. If Merlin is in trouble, then we are staying with you until he gets back. We can sleep in shifts in case he comes back.”

“I’ll take the chair. You and Guinevere can take the bed.”

“You’ve just had a shock.” Guinevere protests, but Morgana waves her off.

“Gwen, this is the first time in his life that he is attempting to be gallant. Don’t let him weasel out of it.” 

Arthur shoots her an irritated look, she smiles back innocently. It isn’t like he doesn’t know what she’s doing. Merlin used to do the same thing. Poke and tease and be generally irritating to try to draw Arthur out of his shell. He shakes his head at Morgan, then levers himself off the bed so he can switch places with Guinevere.

“I’ll take first watch.” he announces as he sits.

Guinevere looks like she’s going to protest once again, but Morgana says something in her ear, too soft for Arthur to hear. Guinevere gives him one last uncertain look, then clambers onto the bed next to Morgana. They settle in side by side, looking as relaxed as if they do this every night.

“Wake us if he comes back.” Morgana instructs, already correctly interpreting Arthur’s plan to hold watch all by himself. 

He nods, and Morgana squints at him suspiciously. He widens his eyes at her, and she rolls her eyes at him, then closes them. He listens to the two of them breathe, uneven at first, then slowly but surely evening out to the steady rhythm of a deep sleep. Other than that, and the crackling of the fire in his grate, his chambers are silent.

Being left alone with his thoughts turns out to be as horrible idea as he expected. Everywhere he looks, there are traces of Merlin. The specific way that his tunics are piled on a chair because he complained about Merlin leaving them on the floor, and Merlin’s insistence that he wear them at least twice before they get taken down to the laundry to be washed. His boots, standing in one corner only partially polished because he and Merlin had their falling out. The socks are still crumpled in the middle of the floor because Merlin dropped them so they could keep speaking eye to eye.

Even with Merlin gone, Arthur is still being haunted by him. He has to wonder if this was the sorcerer’s true intention after all. Surely there is no better way to torture someone than to give them hope. It leaves the cursed in a position of never being able to let go, never being able to escape or move on. Arthur will always look for Merlin now, will always turn his head expecting Merlin to be there with a cheeky comment or a proud look. Hope is a curse that is nearly impossible to break.

He keeps a vague sense of time by the sounds outside of his chambers. On the quarter of the hour, every hour, a city guard patrol passes through the courtyard. Halfway through the night, the guards at the end of the corridor switch shifts with the next set of guards.

Slowly, but inevitably, the sky outside starts to lighten. At first it’s just a yellow-grey glow visible just at the horizon, but it spreads. It grows across the sky of the citadel, turning the light a weak blue-grey haze. Dawn has arrived, and Merlin still isn’t back.

He crosses to Morgana’s side of the bed, and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. She has to get back to her own chambers before his father finds out. He’s always been strangely against the two of them spending any time together outside of the approved day lit activities.

She sits bolt upright, and Arthur winces a little. In his despondency he forgot that her nightmares have made her jumpy. 

“Is he back?” she asks, when she has taken in her surroundings.

Arthur shakes his head grimly.

Morgana’s eyes soften more than he can ever remember seeing, and she draws him into a proper hug while Guinevere is still asleep, “We’ll get him back. I promise.”

“Of course we will.” Arthur agrees, even if he isn’t sure he believes it any longer, and hugs her back as tightly as he can, “You should wake Guinevere and go. You know how my father is.”

Morgana nods and they separate slowly. She turns and gently shakes Guinevere awake. Guinevere looks at them both with eyes full of hope, and all Arthur can do is shake his head once more. Her eyes sparkle a little with unshed tears, but she smiles bravely for Arthur’s sake, and follows Morgana out of the room.

Arthur is left alone in his chambers once more. He doesn’t see much point in trying to get any sleep, he has to be up in an hour anyway. He wanders over to his window and stares down into the courtyard below, unseeing. There is a possibility that the dragon would know something, or maybe Gaius. He mentally writes Gaius off. The loss of Merlin all over again is too much for Arthur, let alone the man who is functionally Merlin’s father. The dragon is his only option. Only, that doesn’t seem like much of an option either. He was none too pleased with Arthur’s existence, even when Arthur promised freedom in exchange. Coming back to him with another problem so soon probably won’t get him the answers he was looking for. Even arguing that destiny will be in shambles without Merlin doesn’t seem all that convincing. He can’t be sure that the dragon actually cares for destiny or is just manipulating the situation to get Merlin to release him.

He thinks, somewhere in the recesses of his brain that are still trying to function, he should get dressed. He glances down at himself, and realizes that he is still wearing the same clothes he was yesterday; boots included. He doesn’t see the point in changing. Merlin was always insistent that clothes be worn as much as possible between washes anyway.

He forces himself away from the window, and over to his desk. His schedule for the day is written out for him in Geoffrey’s overly elaborate script. He doesn’t know what else he is supposed to do. He can’t lock himself away in his rooms over this, not if he wants to avoid his father’s dinner time interrogation. All he wants to do is keep staring into oblivion, but he is the prince, He has to attend his duties. Merlin would probably tell him the same thing anyway.

*

Arthur drags himself back up the stairs towards his chambers. He tried, he did, but his hear just wasn’t in it. He was less attentive in council than he normally is, and training was a disaster. He hasn’t taken that many blows since he was just learning to wield a sword. The only excuse he could come up with when Leon asked what was wrong was to mutter, “Just didn’t get much sleep.”

The sun is bright and golden this late in the afternoon, but it’s like the dawn light never left. Arthur is exhausted and heartsick. He’s been working so hard to bring Merlin back, and as soon as they got a lead it was ripped out from under him. Everything he does now feels pointless.

He pulls open the doors to his chambers, praying that he is tired enough that he will simply pass out from exhaustion the moment his head hits the pillow, and not dream at all. He lets the doors swing shut behind him, and it takes a second to register exactly what’s off about his chambers.

“Merlin!” he shouts, heart leaping with joy at the sight of Merlin sititng at the table, sharpening Arthur’s sword.

He looks up, and offers Arthur a weak smile, “Sorry it took so long to get back.”

“Stay right there.” Arthur orders before Merlin can say anything else, and steps out into the corridor. He catches the nearest servant by their elbow, uncaring of the impropriety at the moment, “Bring me Lady Morgana, or her maid Guinevere, Whichever one you can find first.”

When he steps back inside, Merlin is frowning, “Why are you getting Gwen and Morgana?”

“I startled them by shouting at you when you vanished. They came to check on me.”

“So you told them what happened?”

“They thought I was mad.”

“You are mad.”

“Merlin, what… are you okay?” Arthur asks, striding forward.

Merlin looks terrible. He doesn’t have dark circles under his eyes exactly, because he doesn’t need to sleep, but he does look as exhausted as Arthur must. His smile isn’t as quick or as bright. Worst of all, he is nearly transparent. He is sitting in a patch of shade, but he is as incorporeal looking as if he was sitting out at the training filed in broad daylight.

“I’m fine, Arthur.” Merlin dismisses, and focuses his attention back on the sword.

“At least tell me where you are.”

“I still don’t know, not really.”

“Then tell me what happened after you vanished.” Arthur says desperately.

“Arthur, I’m here. I’m still not dead. Isn’t that enough?” Merlin asks, face crinkling in that way that means he desperately is trying to avoid talking about something.

“No,” Arthur insists, still Merlin’s hands on the blade, “you still don’t have a body.”

“We’ve been getting on just fine.”

“Merlin, you are nearly as see through as water. There is no way that _this_ is fine.”

Merlin scratches his jaw anxiously, “Whoever it is, is just trying to use me to get to you. They hope that if I look like I’m in pain or being hurt, you’ll come charging in to save me.”

“And I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“Arthur, please. I said I was happy to be your servant until the day I died, and I meant it.” Merlin says imploringly, “I’m still your servant, and I still haven’t died. I don’t think I’m even actively dying. You need to stay in Camelot where it’s safe.”

“You know I never listen to you.” Arthur dismisses stubbornly, “Besides, I would rather not have to rescue you when your life actually hangs in the balance. I would much prefer to get you safely home without reaching the point of having to watch you leave the world again.”

Merlin sets aside the sword, and places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “This is my choice. I am the one deciding not to let you find me. It isn’t worth you risking your life, not when I can’t even tell you what to expect when you come find me. Just this once, do as you’re told.”

The doors to Arthur’s chambers swing open to admit Morgana. She looks better than she did last night. Her hair is braided elaborately and held out of her face with a clip, and none of her clothes sit askew any longer, but she still has the same concerned frown on her face that she did the night before. She eyes Arthur warily, as she enters and says “Elyse said you sent her to find me?”

“The castle idiot has returned.” Arthur answers.

“Hey!” Merlin interjects, “I’m not an idiot. Don’t be such a clotpole.”

“Clotpole?” Arthur asks, looking over his shoulder.

Merlin presses his lips together in a disproving line that could rival Gaius’s.

Morgana frowns, eyeing the chair where Merlin is sitting, “I suppose only Merlin would come up with an insult like that. Merlin, could you give me a sign so I know you’re here.”

Merlin sighs, rolls his eyes, and picks up the cleaning rag he was using on Arthur’s sword. He waves it around in the air like a flag, drawing a surprised little double take from Morgana.

“Well, I suppose that proves you aren’t going mad.”

“Tell her you’re sorry for not telling her sooner.” Merlin instructs.

Arthur glares at him, “Shut up, Merlin.”

“The trick is going to be finding Merlin’s body.” Morgana says, eyes calculating and determined.

“Great.” Merlin says tightly and sends Arthur an irritated look, “I say no to you because I don’t want you to get hurt, and you bring Morgana in on it too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, two songs inspired this fic:  
> King - The Amazing Devil  
> Ghost Story - Charming Disaster


End file.
